JMBACH 


LIBRARY 

of 

IRVINE 


SUMMER   LEGENDS 


BY 

RUDOLPH    BAUMBACH. 


TRANSLATED   BY 

HELEN  B.  DOLE. 


NEW  YORK: 

THOMAS   Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 
No.  13  ASTOR  PLACE. 


Copyright  ly 
THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO., 


TYPOGRAPHY  BY  J.  S.  GUSHING  &  Co. 


TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE. 


RUDOLPH  BAUMBACH  is  a  poet.  He  was  born 
in  Thuringia,  and  now  lives  in  Leipsic,  where  he 
is  a  favorite  both  as  a  writer  and  in  society.  Most 
of  his  works  have  been  written  in  verse,  which  is 
spontaneous,  full  of  melody,  and  as  witty  as  Heine, 
but  perfectly  free  from  bitterness.  He  draws  his 
inspiration  largely  from  the  Alps.  His  "  Zlatorog," 
an  Alpine  story,  has  reached  the  twenty-second 
edition,  and  the  "  Lieder  eines  fahrenden  Gesellen" 
and  "  Frau  Holde"  are  each  in  the  thirteenth  edi- 
tion. 

The  present  collection  of  short  stories  has  been 
taken  from  two  little  volumes  in  prose,  entitled, 
"  Sommer-Marchen "  and  "Erzahlungen  und  Mar- 
chen,"  which  have  been  very  popular  in  Germany. 
More  than  eleven  editions  of  the  first  volume  have 
been  sold,  and  six  of  the  second.  They  have  also 
been  published  with  handsome  illustrations  by 
Paul  Mohn.  The  stories  are  remarkable  for  their 
grace  and  simplicity  of  style.  They  are  full  of 
originality  and  wit,  with  occasional  touches  of 
keen  satire,  showing  knowledge  of  the  world  as 
well  as  a  familiarity  with  every  bird  and  flower 


iv  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

and  creature  in  forest,  field,  and  mountain.  The 
stories  are  more  for  young  people  than  children, 
yet  the  "  Easter  Rabbit "  will  be  enjoyed  by  the 
little  ones,  while  the  fun  in  the  "  Ass's  Spring  "  will 
appeal  to  children  of  a  larger  growth.  They  are 
not  altogether  fairy-tales,  though  all  border  on 
the  marvellous,  and  sprites,  elves,  and  other  myste- 
rious folk  from  Wonderland  play  a  conspicuous 
part. 

HELEN  B.  DOLE. 

BOSTON,  April  18, 1888. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PROLOGUE vii 

RANUNCULUS,  THE  MEADOW  SPRITE      ...  1 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  DAISY    .....  14 

THE  CLOVER  LEAF 19 

THE  ADDER-QUEEN     .......  36 

THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE 51 

THE  EASTER  RABBIT 67 

THE  GOLDEN  TREE 75 

THE  MAGIC  Bow 83 

THE  BEECH-TREE 94 

THE  WATER  OF  FORGETFULNESS    ....  105 

THEODELINDA  AND  THE  WATER-SPRITE       .       .  120 

THE  Ass's  SPRING 129 

THE  TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY 141 

THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL 168 

THE  WATER  OF  YOUTH 181 

THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS 196 

THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF 208 

THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER 223 

THE  WITCHING-STONE 237 

THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 253 

THE  MATCH-MAKERS 264 

A  HAPPY  MARRIAGE 277 


PROLOGUE. 


My  gallant  courser  swift  and  good 

Through  story-land  conveys  me; 
The  mystic  lady  of  the  wood 

With  runic  staff"  delays  me; 
The  water-nissie  sings  her  lays 

Beside  the  fairy  fountain  ; 
The  golden-antlered  white  stag  plays 

In  sunlight  on  the  mountain. 

Deep  down  in  caverns  I  behold 

Brown  kobolds  evil  scheming  ; 
1  see  their  hoards  of  hidden  gold 

Like  coals  of  red  fire  gleaming. 
The  speech  of  birds  and  beasts  I  know, 

The  lore  of  trees  and  flowers; 
I  use  all  magic  herbs  that  grow  — 

Their  good  and  evil  powers. 


PROLOGUE. 

To  join  his  midnight  gallop  wild 

The  Huntsman  oft  invites  me; 
Upon  the  moonlit  meadows  mild 

The  Elfin  dance  delights  me  ; 
The  gray-haired  witch  upon  her  fire 

A  cheering  draught  can  brew  me; 
The  crested  dragon  calms  his  ire, 

And  fawning  grovels  to  me. 

My  courser  starts,  and  whinnies  clear; 

He  spurns  the  Earth's  dominions ; 
Upon  his  shoulders  broad  appear 

Two  spreading  snow-white  pinions. 
Swift  as  the  storm,  away  we  fly 

Through  measureless  expanses  — 
Ah  no!  at  home  in  bed  I  lie 

And  dream  my  pleasant  fancies. 


KANUNCULUS,  THE  MEADOW 
SPRITE. 


upon  a  time  there  was  a  young  school- 
master who,  in  spite  of  his  youth,  was  so 
wise  and  learned  that  when  the  seven  wise  men 
of  Greece,  during  a  visit  to  the  upper  world,  held 
a  disputation  with  him,  they  stood  like  dunces 
before  him. 

This  same  schoolmaster  started  out  into  the 
fields,  one  spring  morning,  to  hear  the  grass 
grow;  for  he  knew  all  about  that  too.  And 
as  he  wandered  through  the  bright  green  mead- 
ows, and  saw  the  variegated  marvels  of  the  air 
flying  around  the  star-flowers,  and  heard  the 
crickets  in  the  grass,  the  birds  in  the  branches, 
and  the  frogs  in  the  meadow  brook,  singing 
their  wedding  songs,  then  he  thought  of  his 
native  village,  which  he  had  left  years  before, 
to  go  to  college,  and  he  thought,  too,  of  the 
little  black-eyed  lassie  who  had  given  him  a 


2  RANUNCULUS. 

gingerbread  heart,  as  a  farewell  present,  and 
shed  bitter  tears  over  it;  and  a  strange  feeling 
came  over  him. 

On  the  following  day  the  schoolmaster  tied 
up  his  bundle,  took  his  knotted  staff  in  his 
hand,  and  started  forth,  with  joy  and  happi- 
ness in  his  heart,  out  of  the  city,  into  the 
green  world. 

Three  days  after,  he  caught  a  glimpse, 
through  the  blossoming  fruit-trees,  of  the  blue 
slate-covered  roof  of  his  own  village  church 
tower,  and  the  wind  brought  the  mellow  sound 
of  bells  to  his  ears. 

"I  wonder  if  she  will  know  me,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "Hardly;  and  I,  too,  shall  have  diffi- 
culty to  find,  in  the  eighteen-year-old  girl,  the 
little  Greta  of  former  days.  But  her  eyes,  her 
big  black  eyes,  they  must  betray  her  to  me. 
And  if  I  see  her  sitting  by  her  door,  on  the 
stone  bench,  I  will  step  up  to  her  side,  and  — 
and  the  rest  will  come  of  itself." 

The  schoolmaster  threw  his  hat  into  the  air, 
and  shouted  so  loud  that  he  was  frightened  at 
his  own  voice.  He  looked  shyly  about  him  to 
see  if  anybody  had  witnessed  his  unruliness ;  but, 
except  a  field  mouse,  which  made  a  hasty  retreat 


THE  MEADOW  SPRITE.  3 

into  her  hole,  there  was  no  living  creature  in 
sight. 

With  loud-beating  heart,  the  learned  man 
took  his  way  into  the  village.  The  bells  were 
no  longer  heard ;  but,  instead,  came  the  merry 
sounds  of  fiddles  and  flutes.  A  wedding  pro- 
cession was  passing  through  the  narrow  village 
street. 

The  bridegroom,  a  splendid  young  peasant, 
looked  happy  and  proud,  —  as  though  he  would 
ask  the  dear  Lord,  "How  much  would  you  take 
for  the  world?"  The  bride,  adorned  with  a 
glittering  crown,  cast  her  eyes  modestly  on  the 
ground.  Once  only  she  raised  her  lids;  and  her 
eyes,  her  big  black  eyes,  betrayed  to  the  school- 
master who  it  was  that  was  walking  under  the 
bridal  wreath.  And  the  poor  man  turned  him 
about  and  went  back,  unrecognized,  by  the  way 
he  had  come. 

It  was  midday.  Green-gold  shone  the  fields; 
and  wherever  there  was  running  water,  there  the 
sun  scattered  thousands  and  thousands  of  glis- 
tening sparkles.  The  creatures  rejoiced  in  the 
sunlight ;  but  to-day  it  was  painful  to  the  school- 
master, and  he  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 
Thus  he  strode  along. 


4  RANUNCULUS. 

A  traveller  joined  him,  who  must  have  already 
gone  a  long  distance;  for  he  looked  like  a  wan- 
dering cloud  of  dust. 

"  Good  friend,"  said  the  stranger  to  the  school- 
master, "  the  sunlight  blinds  your  eyes,  does  it 
not  ?  " 

The  schoolmaster  assented. 

"  See !  "  continued  the  other,  "  there  is  no  bet- 
ter help  for  it  than  a  pair  of  gray  spectacles  such 
as  I  wear.  Try  them  once !  "  And  with  these 
words  he  took  the  spectacles  off  his  nose,  and 
handed  them  to  the  schoolmaster. 

The  latter  consented,  and  put  on  the  dull- 
colored  glasses.  They  really  did  his  hot  eyes 
good.  The  sun  lost  its  bright  glare  ;  the 
meadow,  with  its  red  and  yellow  flowers,  the 
trees  and  bushes,  and  the  roof  of  heaven,  — 
everything  was  gray.  And  so  it  seemed  quite 
right  to  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  sell  them  ? "  he  asked 
of  the  strange  traveller. 

"  They  are  in  good  hands,"  was  the  reply, 
"and  I  always  carry  several  pairs  of  such  spec- 
tacles with  me.  Keep  them  to  remember  me 
by,  Herr  Magister." 

"Ah,  do  you  know  me?     And  may  I  ask  —  " 


THE  MEADOW  SPRITE.  5 

"Who  I  am?"  interrupted  the  stranger,  fin- 
ishing out  the  question.  "My  name  is  Grumbler. 
Farewell !  " 

With  these  words  he  struck  into  a  bypath, 
and  soon  was  out  of  sight.  The  schoolmaster 
pressed  the  gray  glasses  firmly  on  his  nose,  and 
went  his  way. 

Years  had  fled  since  this  took  place ;  the 
schoolmaster  had  become  a  crusty  old  bachelor, 
and  had  forgotten  how  to  find  pleasure  in  the 
world.  He  still  went  out  into  the  fields ;  but 
the  green  of  the  trees  and  the  marvellous  color- 
ing of  the  flowers  no  longer  existed  for  him. 
He  pulled  up  the  plants  by  their  roots,  carried 
them  home,  and  pressed  and  dried  them ;  then 
he  laid  the  flower-mummies  on  gray  blotting- 
paper,  wrote  a  Latin  name  beneath :  and  this 
was  his  only  pleasure,  if  pleasure  it  could  be 
called. 

One  day,  during  one  of  his  expeditions,  the 
schoolmaster  came  to  an  out-of-the-way  valley ; 
through  it  flowed  a  brook,  which  turned  a  mill; 
and  as  he  was  thirsty,  he  asked  the  old  woman, 
who  was  sunning  herself  before  the  door,  if  she 
would  give  him  a  drink.  The  old  woman  said 
yes,  invited  the  guest  to  sit  down,  and  went 


6  RANUNCULUS, 

into  the  house.  Soon  after,  a  young  girl  brought 
some  bread  and  milk,  and  placed  them  on  a 
stone  table  before  the  guest.  Then  the  school- 
master wondered  whether  the  maiden  were  ugly; 
but  he  could  not  quite  make  out  through  his 
gray  spectacles;  and  he  could  not  take  off  the 
spectacles,  because  he  thought  the  sunlight  would 
hurt  his  eyes.  In  silence  he  ate  what  was  set 
before  him;  and  as  the  miller's  daughter  would 
take  no  pay,  he  pressed  her  hand  and  went 
away.  But  she  looked  after  the  melancholy 
man  till  he  disappeared  behind  the  bushes. 

The  meadow  valley  in  which  the  mill  stood 
must  have  fostered  many  kinds  of  strange  plants ; 
for,  three  days  after  his  first  visit,  the  learned 
schoolmaster  came  again  and  had  a  talk  at  the 
mill.  And  he  came  more  and  more  often,  and 
was  soon  a  welcome  guest. 

He  brought  sugar,  coffee,  snuff,  and  other 
judicious  gifts,  to  the  old  grandmother,  and 
entertained  the  miller  with  edifying  conversa- 
tion ;  but  to  his  fair-haired  little  daughter  he 
said  never  a  word,  but  contented  himself  with 
looking  at  the  beautiful  girl,  from  time  to  time, 
through  his  gray  spectacles.  Then  the  miller 
would  nudge  the  grandmother  gently  with  his 


THE  MEADOW  SPRITE.  7 

elbow,  and  the  old  woman  would  nod  her  white 
head. 

One  day,  when  the  schoolmaster  had  left 
the  mill  and  was  going  along  the  edge  of  the 
meadow,  he  noticed  a  mole,  caught  in  a  snare, 
kicking  and  struggling  to  escape  death  on  the 
gallows.  The  good-hearted  man  stepped  up  to 
him,  set  the  prisoner  free,  and  put  him  on  the 
ground.  Then  mole  and  schoolmaster  each  went 
his  way. 

As  the  learned  man  was  sitting  in  his  study, 
on  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  it  happened 
that  a  bat  came  flying  in  at  the  open  window. 
That  was  not  at  all  strange;  but  that  on  the 
bat  rode  a  little  man,  no  bigger  than  your  fin- 
ger, and  that  this  little  man  got  down  and 
made  a  low  bow  before  the  schoolmaster,  — 
this,  indeed,  appeared  very  extraordinary. 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ? "  he  asked  the 
little  creature,  not  very  graciously.  "  Go  to 
some  story-teller,  and  don't  disturb  the  work 
of  sensible  people  !  " 

But  the  little  man  did  not  allow  himself  to 
be  confused.  He  came  nearer,  sat  down  on  the 
box  of  writing-sand,  and  said:  — 

"  Do  not  send  me  away  from  you !     I  have 


8  RANUNCULUS, 

kind  intentions  towards  you,  for  you  helped  me 
out  of  serious  trouble  to-day ;  I  was  the  mole 
that  you  released  from  the  snare." 

"  So !  And  who  are  you,  in  reality  ? "  asked 
the  scholar,  inspecting  the  little  fellow  through 
his  glasses.  He  had  a  dainty,  trim  figure ;  and 
if  the  spectacles  had  not  been  gray,  the  school- 
master could  have  seen  that  the  little  man 
wore  a  green  coat  and  a  golden-yellow  cap. 

"I  am  the  meadow  sprite,  Ranunculus,"  said 
the  dwarf.  "My  servants  care  for  the  grass 
and  the  flowers ;  some  wash  them  with  dew, 
others  comb  them  with  sunbeams,  and  still 
others  carry  food  to  the  roots.  The  last-named 
I  wished  to  watch  at  their  work  this  morning, 
and,  that  they  might  not  recognize  me,  I  took 
the  form  of  a  mole.  By  this  means  I  fell  into 
the  snare  from  which  your  hand  set  me  free. 
And  now  I  am  here  to  thank  you,  and  to  do 
you  some  service  in  return." 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?  "  said  the  schoolmaster. 

"  You  are  a  learned  man,"  continued  Ranun- 
culus. "  You  are  familiar  with  the  flowers  and 
plants  in  the  meadow  and  on  the  mountain,  in 
the  woods  and  fields ;  but  there  is  one  flower 
you  do  not  know." 


THE  MEADOW  SPRITE.  9 

"  What  is  that  ? "  asked  the  schoolmaster, 
excitedly. 

"  It  is  the  flower  called  heart's-joy." 

"  No,  I   do  not  know  it." 

"  But  I  do,"  said  Ranunculus,  "  and  I  will 
tell  you  where  to  find  it.  If  you  follow  along 
the  mill  brook,  —  which  you  are  familiar  with, 
—  to  its  source,  you  will  come  to  a  rock.  There 
you  will  find  a  cave,  which  the  people  call  the 
goblin's  cavern,  and,  in  front  of  the  entrance, 
blooms  the  flower  heart's-joy,  but  only  on  Trin- 
ity Sunday,  at  the  hour  of  sunrise;  and  whoever 
is  on  the  spot  then  can  pluck  the  blossom.  Do 
you  understand  all  that  I  have  said?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  Then  good  luck  to  you ! "  said  the  little 
man ;  and  he  mounted  his  winged  steed,  and 
flew  out  at  the  open  window. 

The  schoolmaster  rubbed  his  forehead,  in 
amazement,  and  shook  his  head.  Then  he 
buried  himself  in  a  folio  volume  bound  in  pig- 
skin. 

A  couple  of  days  after  this  occurrence,  at 
the  hour  of  twilight,  the  miller's  pretty  daugh- 
ter sat  before  the  meadow  mill,  and  the  grand- 
mother by  her  side.  The  spinning -wheels 


10  RANUNCULUS, 

hummed;  and  the  old  woman  was  telling  the 
story  of  Lady  Perchta,  who  sends  the  swiftest 
spinners  knots  of  flax  which  afterwards  change 
to  yellow  gold,  and  about  other  marvels  of  the 
sort.  She  related,  too,  about  the  sleeping  man 
who  sits  in  the  goblin's  cave.  Once  in  a 
hundred  years  he  becomes  visible ;  and  if  a 
maiden  kisses  him  then  three  times,  he  is  re- 
leased, and  as  a  reward,  the  maiden  will  be 
given  a  sweetheart.  The  old  woman  went  on 
telling  stories ;  and  the  pretty  maiden  listened, 
and  spun  the  fairy  tales  further,  likfl  the  threads 
of  flax  which  she  twisted  in  her  white  fingers. 
The  stars  rose  in  the  sky ;  and  as  it  was  the 
time  of  year  when  the  elder-tree  was  in  bloom, 
sweet  weariness  came  over  the  maiden's  eyes. 
She  sought  her  chamber,  and  went  to  rest. 

In  the  night  she  dreamed  that  there  came  to 
her  a  little  man  wearing  a  green  coat  and  a 
golden-yellow  cap.  And  the  little  being  looked 
very  friendly,  and  said  to  the  maiden  :  — 

"  Thou  lucky  child !  For  thee,  and  none 
other,  the  sweetheart  in  the  goblin's  cavern  is 
destined.  To-morrow  is  the  day  when  the 
sleeping  man  becomes  visible.  At  sunrise  he 
will  sit,  slumbering,  at  the  entrance  of  the 


THE  MEADOW  SPRITE.  11 

cave ;  and  if  thou  art  not  afraid,  and  -wilt 
kiss  him  heartily  three  times  on  the  mouth, 
the  spell  will  be  broken,  and  the  sweetheart 
won.  But  take  great  care,  while  working  his 
release,  not  to  speak  a  word,  or  even  to  utter 
a  sound ;  for,  otherwise,  the  sleeping  man  will 
sink  three  thousand  fathoms  deep  into  the 
earth,  and  will  have  to  wait  another  hundred 
years  for  his  ransom." 

Thus  spoke  the  sprite,  and  vanished.  But 
the  maiden  awoke  and  rubbed  her  eyes.  A 
sweet  odor,  as  from  new-mown  hay,  filled  the 
chamber,  and  the  gray  morning  light  peeped  in 
through  the  cracks  of  the  shutters.  Then  the 
damsel,  full  of  courage,  arose  from  her  couch, 
and  dressed  herself.  Quietly  she  left  the  house, 
and,  tucking  up  her  petticoats,  hastened  through 
the  dewy  grass  to  the  goblin's  cavern. 

In  the  boughs  the  wood  birds  were  already 
stirring,  and,  still  half-asleep,  were  beginning  to 
tune  up  their  songs.  The  white  mist  sank  to 
the  earth,  and  spread  out  in  streaks  over  the 
meadow ;  and  the  tips  of  the  fir-trees  took  on 
a  golden  tinge.  There  stood  the  miller's  lovely 
daughter  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern ;  and 
truly,  just  as  the  little  drawf  had  predicted, 


12  RANUNCULUS, 

there  sat  the  sleeping  man  on  a  moss-covered 
stone.  The  maiden  almost  uttered  a  loud  cry ; 
for  the  sleeping  man  looked  so  exactly  like  the 
schoolmaster,  even  to  wearing  a  pair  of  gray 
glasses  on  his  nose. 

Fortunately  the  damsel  bethought  herself  of 
the  little  man's  warning;  and  silently,  but  with 
a  loud-beating  heart,  she  drew  near  the  sleeper 
to  perform  the  benignant  task  of  setting  him 
free  —  and  it  did  not  seem  to  her  nearly  as 
frightful  as  she  had  imagined  beforehand. 

Gently  she  bent  over  the  slumberer,  and 
kissed  him  on  the  mouth ;  the  man  stirred, 
as  if  he  would  awaken. 

The  maiden  kissed  him  a  second  time ;  the 
man  opened  his  weary  eyelids,  and  looked  at 
the  damsel  dreamily  through  his  gray  spectacles. 

But  she  remained  resolute,  and  pressed  the 
third  kiss  on  his  lips. 

Then  the  man,  fully  awake,  jumped  up  from 
his  seat  in  such  haste  that  the  glasses  fell  from 
his  nose  and  broke  into  a  thousand  pieces  on 
the  stony  ground.  And  he  saw  again,  for  the 
first  time  in  many  years,  the  verdure  of  spring 
gleaming  in  the  sunlight,  the  bright  flowers,  the 
blue  sky,  and,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  glory, 


THE  MEADOW  SPRITE.  13 

a  maiden  as  beautiful  as  a  May  rose  and  slen- 
der as  a  lily.  And  he  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and  gave  her  the  three  kisses  back  again,  and 
countless  others  followed  these. 

But  on  a  bright  yellow  marigold  sat  the 
meadow  sprite  Ranunculus,  kicking  his  little 
legs  for  joy.  Then  he  jumped  down,  making 
the  flower  shake  violently,  and  went  about  his 
momentous  affairs.  He  had  kept  his  word : 
the  schoolmaster  had  found  his  heart's-joy,  and 
the  miller's  pretty  daughter  her  sweetheart. 


THE   LEGEND   OF  THE  DAISY. 


/"^  OOD  children,  as  you  know,  when  they  die, 
go  to  heaven  and  become  angels.  But  if 
you  have  the  least  idea  that  there  they  do  nothing 
the  livelong  day  but  fly  about  and  play  hide  and 
seek  behind  the  clouds,  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken. 

Angel  children,  like  the  boys  and  girls  upon 
earth,  are  obliged  to  go  to  school,  and  on  week- 
days they  have  to  sit  three  hours  in  the  morning 
and  two  in  the  afternoon  in  the  angel  school. 
There  they  write  with  golden  pencils  on  silver 
slates,  and  instead  of  A-B-C-books  they  have 
books  of  fairy  tales  with  colored  pictures.  They 
do  not  study  geography,  for  why  should  they  in 
heaven  learn  about  the  earth?  and  they  know 
nothing  about  the  multiplication  table  in  eternity. 
The  teacher  of  the  angel  school  is  Dr.  Faust. 
He  was  a  professor  on  earth ;  and  on  account  of 
a  certain  story,  which  cannot  be  repeated  here, 


THE  LEGEND    OF   THE  DAISY.          15 

he  has  to  keep  school  three  thousand  years  longer 
in  heaven  before  the  long  vacation  begins  for  him. 
The  little  angels  have  Wednesday  and  Saturday 
afternoons  for  a  half-holiday ;  then  Dr.  Faust 
takes  them  to  play  on  the  Milky  Way.  But 
Sundays  they  are  allowed  to  play  in  the  great 
meadow  in  front  of  the  Heavenly  Gate,  and  they 
look  forward  to  this  all  through  the  week.  The 
meadow  is  not  green,  but  blue,  and  there  grow 
thousands  and  thousands  of  silver  and  golden 
flowers.  They  shine  in  the  night,  and  we  people 
on  earth  call  them  stars.  When  the  angels  gam- 
bol before  the  Heavenly  Gate,  Dr.  Faust  is  not 
with  them,  for  he  has  so  much  trouble  during 
the  week  that  he  must  rest  on  Sunday.  Then 
the  holy  Peter,  who  guards  the  Gate  of  Heaven, 
takes  the  oversight  of  them.  He  sees  that  they 
are  very  orderly  in  their  play,  and  that  none  of 
them  runs  or  flies  away;  but  if  it  happen  that 
one  gets  too  far  from  the  gate,  then  he  whistles 
with  his  golden  key :  that  means  "  Come  back ! " 
Once,  it  was  so  very  hot  in  heaven  that  Saint 
Peter  fell  asleep.  As  soon  as  the  angels  noticed 
it,  they  swarmed  out  hither  and  thither  and  were 
scattered  over  the  whole  meadow.  The  most 
enterprising  started  on  a  voyage  of  discovery,  and 


16          THE  LEGEND    OF  THE  DAISY. 

finally  came  to  the  place  where  the  world  is  shut 
off  by  a  high  fence.  At  first  they  sought  for  a 
crack  somewhere  to  peep  through ;  but  when  they 
found  there  was  not  a  chink,  they  climbed  and 
flew  up  on  the  fence  and  looked  over. 

Over  there  on  the  other  side  was  Hades,  and 
before  the  gate  of  Hades  was  just  such  another 
throng  of  little  imps  roving  about.  They  were 
black  as  coals,  and  had  horns  on  their  heads  and 
long  tails  behind.  One  of  them  by  accident 
looked  up  and  saw  the  angels,  and  immediately 
besought  them  eagerly  to  let  them  into  heaven 
for  a  little  while :  —  they  would  be  very  proper 
and  well-behaved. 

This  touched  the  angels ;  and  as  the  little  black 
fellows  pleased  them,  they  decided  that  they  might 
grant  the  poor  imps  this  innocent  pleasure.  One 
of  them  knew  where  Jacob's  ladder  was  kept. 
They  dragged  it  out  of  the  lumber-room  (Saint 
Peter  was  fortunately  still  asleep),  lifted  it  over 
the  fence,  and  let  it  down  into  Hades.  The  long- 
tailed  imps  climbed  up  the  rounds  like  monkeys, 
the  angels  gave  them  their  hands,  and  so  the 
little  scapegraces  came  into  the  heavenly  meadow. 

At  first  they  behaved  themselves  very  well. 
They  went  about  properly,  carrying  their  tails 


THE  LEGEND    OF  THE  DAISY,          17 

like  trains  in  their  arms,  just  as  Satan's  grand- 
mother, who  lays  great  stress  upon  good  manners, 
had  taught  them.  But  it  did  not  last  long ;  they 
became  lawless,  turned  summersaults  and  hand- 
springs, and  screamed  like  veritable  devil-urchins. 
They  teased  the  beautiful  moon,  who  was  looking 
peacefully  out  of  one  of  the  heavenly  windows ; 
they  ran  out  their  tongues  and  made  long  noses 
at  her,  and  finally  they  began  to  pull  up  the 
flowers  growing  in  the  meadow  and  to  throw 
them  down  on  the  earth. 

Now  the  angels  were  sorry  and  repented  bit- 
terly of  having  let  unclean  guests  into  heaven. 
They  besought  and  threatened ;  but  the  imps 
would  not  stop,  and  grew  wilder  and  wilder. 

Then  the  angels,  in  their  anxiety,  wakened 
Saint  Peter,  and  confessed  penitently  what  they 
had  done.  He  threw  his  hands  together  over  his 
head,  when  he  became  aware  of  the  mischief  that 
was  going  on.  "  March  in  !  "  he  thundered ;  and 
the  little  ones  stole  back  with  drooping  wings 
through  the  gate  into  heaven.  Then  Saint  Peter 
called  a  couple  of  strong  angels  to  him.  They 
caught  the  little  imps  up  together  and  carried 
them  back  where  they  belonged. 

The  little  angels  did  not  escape  punishment. 


18          THE  LEGEND    OF  THE  DAISY. 

For  three  Sundays,  one  after  another,  they  could 
not  go  to  the  Heavenly  Gate;  and  when  they  went 
out  to  walk,  they  had  to  take  off  their  wings  and 
lay  aside  their  halos,  and  it  is  a  great  disgrace 
for  an  angel  to  have  to  go  without  wings  and 
halo. 

But  some  good  came  of  the  affair,  after  all. 
The  flowers  which  the  imps  tore  up  and  threw 
down  on  the  earth  took  root  and  multiplied  year 
after  year.  To  be  sure,  the  star-flowers  lost  much 
of  their  heavenly  beauty,  but  they  are  still  lovely 
to  see,  with  their  golden-yellow  disks  and  crown 
of  silver-white  rays.  And  because  they  are  of 
heavenly  origin  they  possess  a  wonderful  virtue. 
If  a  maid  with  doubt  in  her  heart  pulls  off  the 
white  petals  of  the  starry  blossom  one  by  one, 
and  at  the  same  time  repeats  a  certain  saying, 
she  will  know  very  truly  by  the  last  leaflet  what 
she  longs  to  find  out. 


THE  CLOVER  LEAF. 


rj^HE  town  was  as  silent  as  the  grave,  for  all  who 
were  not  compelled  by  sickness  or  infirmity 
to  stay  at  home  had  gone  out  to  the  park,  where 
the  shooting-club  were  trying  to  shoot  down,  piece 
by  piece,  from  the  pole  the  two-headed  eagle,  the 
emblem  of  the  holy  Roman  Empire.  In  the  cot- 
tages, decked  with  wreaths  of  evergreen  and 
trimmed  with  bright-colored  banners,  sat  the 
townspeople  drinking  beer  and  foaming  ale.  Red- 
cheeked  maidens  with  white  aprons  and  bare  arms 
stood  behind  the  sausage  ovens,  fanning  away  the 
smoke  rising  from  the  coals.  All  kinds  of  itiner- 
ant people  dressed  in  gay-colored  tatters  were  prac- 
tising their  arts  here,  —  knife-throwers,  fire-eaters, 
and  acrobats  with  hoarse  voices,  vaunting  their 
skill,  and  a  bear  was  performing  his  clumsy  dance 
to  the  sound  of  a  Polish  bagpipe. 

From  the  club-house,  out  of  whose  gable  windows 
fluttered  the  banners  which   the  Emperor  Henry 


20  THE    CLOVER  LEAF. 

had  presented  to  the  club,  sounded  the  ceaseless 
cracking  of  the  heavy  arquebuses,  and  the  eagle  on 
the  pole  had  already  lost  his  sceptre  and  imperial 
ball,  as  well  as  a  claw  and  a  wing.  The  men  who 
on  week-days  wielded  hammer  and  plane,  axe  and 
awl,  managed  the  firearms  as  skilfully  as  the  tools 
of  their  handicraft,  and  looked  very  magnificent  in 
their  shooting-jackets.  But  while  shooting  they 
did  not  forget  to  drink,  and  the  great  bumper, 
which  was  decorated  with  wild  beasts  in  embossed 
work,  circulated  freely. 

Among  the  women  who  were  present  at  the  club- 
house watching  the  skill  of  the  men,  was  a  slender 
young  maiden  not  less  conspicuous  for  her  beauty 
than  for  her  costume.  She  was  dressed  in  the 
usual  style  of  the  country  people ;  but  her  dark 
gown  was  of  fine  Brabant  cloth,  the  buttons  on  her 
waist  were  of  solid  silver,  and  her  black  silk  cap, 
from  beneath  which  hung  down  her  long  yellow 
braids,  had  a  gold  ornament,  which  would  have 
been  cheap  at  two  crowns.  The  city  damsels 
noticed  with  displeasui'e  how  the  young  fellows 
assiduously  crowded  about  the  table  where  the 
maiden  sat,  and  turned  up  their  little  noses  at  the 
country  mouse  and  the  want  of  taste  in  the  young 
men.  However,  it  contributed  somewhat  to  their 


THE   CLOVER  LEAF.  21 

peace  of  mind  that  all  the  endeavors  of  the  city 
young  men  to  get  next  the  maiden  were  in  vain. 
She  -was  sitting  between  the  king's  forester,  a 
man  of  sunburnt  face  and  iron-gray  beard,  and 
a  wild-looking  huntsman's  lad.  The  neighboring 
seats  were  also  occupied,  and,  indeed,  with  none 
but  huntsmen,  so  the  beautiful  girl  might  be  con- 
sidered well  protected.  The  old  man  next  her  was 
her  father,  but  the  young  hunter  on  the  other  side 
of  her  was  her  father's  assistant.  He  had  made 
the  best  shots  of  the  day,  and  the  city  fellows  envied 
him  no  less  his  good  luck  in  the  match  than  his 
seat  next  the  beautiful  Margaret.  But  she  did  not 
seem  to  be  greatly  edified  by  the  nearness  of  the 
young  fellow ;  she  answered  his  questions  in  mono- 
syllables only,  and  when  he  attempted  to  sit  nearer, 
she  gathered  the  folds  of  her  dress  together  as 
though  she  were  afraid  of  being  touched  by  the 
wild  youth. 

Now  the  voice  of  the  herald  sounded  through 
the  enclosure :  "  Forester  Henner,  make  ready  1 " 
The  maiden's  father  rose  from  his  seat,  to  take  his 
turn  in  shooting  at  the  bird,  and  the  young  hunter 
followed  at  the  old  man's  heels. 

Already  there  was  nothing  left  of  the  noble 
easjle  but  his  tail.  But  whoever  should  shoot  this 


22  THE    CLOVER  LEAF. 

down  from  the  pole  would  be  king  of  the  tourna- 
ment. 

The  forester  took  aim,  and  shot.  The  people 
saw  how  the  tail  trembled  and  bent  forward,  but 
it  did  not  fall  to  the  ground.  The  cry  of  joy  which 
some  had  already  raised,  ceased  suddenly,  and  the 
forester  planted  his  gunstock  angrily  on  the  ground. 

Now  came  Witsch's  turn,  for  such  was  the  young 
hunter's  name.  He  raised  his  gun  and  moved  his 
lips  in  a  whisper.  Then  happened  something  very 
extraordinary.  The  eagle's  tail,  as  though  it  after- 
wards thought  better  of  it,  detached  itself  from 
the  pole  and  fell  to  the  ground,  like  an  over-ripe 
apple  from  a  tree.  The  hunter's  gun  went  off  too 
late ;  the  bullet  whistled  through  empty  air. 

Malicious  laughter  arose,  and  everybody  was 
pleased  at  the  young  fellow's  bad  luck,  for  the 
sunburned  Witsch  was  one  whom  nobody  had 
confidence  in  nor  wished  well.  But  he  did  not 
seem  to  take  the  accident  much  to  heart;  indeed, 
his  voice  was  the  first  to  salute  old  Henner 
as  king  of  the  tournament.  The  forester's  face 
beamed  with  joy,  as  the  chain  with  the  medal  was 
hung  around  his  neck,  and  he  was  proclaimed 
king.  He  bowed  his  thanks  on  all  sides  like  a 
veritable  king,  and  then  they  took  him  into  their 


THE   CLOVER  LEAF.  23 

midst  and  showed  him  to  the  crowd.  The  drum- 
mers and  buglers  marched  ahead,  and  then  came 
the  color-bearer,  who,  according  to  an  ancient  cus- 
tom, went  dancing  along  with  wonderful  agility. 
These  were  followed  by  the  king  of  the  festival, 
accompanied  by  the  heralds  ;  behind  him  marched 
the  prize-winners,  and  foremost  among  them  was 
Witsch;  then  the  scorers,  with  the  pieces  of  the 
shattered  bird ;  and  last  of  all  the  other  members 
of  the  club.  The  procession  moved  in  a  circle 
around  the  pai'k,  and  then  turned  back  into  the 
club-house,  where  the  king's  supper  was  to  end  the 
festival. 

As  soon  as  they  reached  there,  the  king  of  the 
tournament  went  up  to  his  assistant,  seized  him 
by  the  hand,  and  said  distinctly  and  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  by  everybody :  "  Witsch,  I  am  both 
glad  and  sorry  for  what  has  happened.  This 
honor  has  escaped  you,  but  you  are  still  the 
better  marksman  of  us  two.  Yes,  dear  friends," 
and  he  turned  to  the  others,  "there  is  not  one 
among  you  who  can  outdo  him." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  dissatisfaction  in  the 
circle  of  the  marksmen.  Then  the  brown  country 
youth  cast  his  eyes  over  the  assembled  crowd  and 
screwed  up  his  mouth.  He  looked  up  where,  high 


24  THE   CLOVER  LEAF. 

in  the  air,  the  chimney  swallows  were  darting 
hither  and  thither. 

"  Who  among  you,"  he  asked,  "  will  venture  to 
bring  down  two  swallows  with  one  bullet  ?  " 

The  huntsmen  were  silent. 

But  Witsch  raised  his  gun,  took  aim  for  a  mo- 
ment, fired,  and  two  mangled  swallows  fell  to  the 
ground. 

"  Did  you  see  that  ?  "  called  out  the  old  Henner. 
"  No,  nobody  can  equal  that." 

The  men  were  silent,  and  many  looked  askance 
at  the  uncanny  huntsman,  who  stood  there,  as 
though  the  shot  were  an  every-day  occurrence.  But 
the  forester  took  him  by  the  arm,  led  him  to  the 
table,  and  bade  him  sit  by  his  daughter. 

Those  who  had  not  the  privilege  to  drink  at  the 
club  table  did  so  in  a  cottage  in  the  park ;  and  at 
the  little  tables,  highly  decorated  with  wet  circles, 
the  master-shot  of  the  huntsman  Witsch  was  dis- 
cussed on  all  sides. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  whispered  before  he 
shot  at  the  tail  on  the  pole?"  asked  the  herald,  who 
was  resting  from  his  work  behind  the  tankard. 

"'  Skill  brings  not 
The  lucky  shot.' 

That  is  how  the  saying  ran.    I  stood  near  by.    I 


THE    CLOVER  LEAF.  25 

heard  it.  That  is  a  benediction  he  didn't  learn 
in  church.  It  would  have  been  an  easy  thing  for 
him  to  shoot  down  the  bird  himself  and  become 
king  of  the  festival,  but  the  sly  fox  lets  the  old 
man  have  the  honor  and  wins  the  daughter." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  the  shot  at  the 
swallows  ?  "  one  of  the  scorers  asked  the  herald. 

The  old  man  shook  his  gray  head.  He  had  been 
a  soldier,  and  knew  a  thing  or  two  about  such  mat- 
ters. He  began  to  tell  about  charmed  bullets,  en- 
chantments, and  the  fernseed  which  makes  things 
invisible.  He  also  told  dreadful  stories  of  the 
Wild  Huntsman,  who  rides  through  the  clouds  at 
night,  and  all  kinds  of  ghost  stories,  so  that  his 
listeners  became  more  and  more  excited. 

A  tempest  was  gathering  over  the  head  of  the 
young  hunter  Witsch.  The  sorcerer,  the  magic 
shooter,  ought  to  be  tried  for  his  life,  thought  a 
troubled  master-tailor.  But  the  others  were  more 
inclined  to  the  opinion  of  a  boisterous  journeyman- 
smith,  who  proposed  to  brand  Witsch  on  the  back, 
so  that  he  might  remember  the  tournament  all  the 
rest  of  his  life. 

Night  was  falling ;  the  club-house  became  empty. 
But  the  old  Henner  still  sat  drinking  with  his  com- 
rades, and  paid  no  attention  to  his  daughter,  who 
repeatedly  pulled  at  his  jacket  to  remind  him  that  it 


26  THE    CLOVER  LEAF. 

was  time  to  go.  One  can  more  easily  entice  a  fox 
from  his  hole  than  a  forester  from  his  beer. 

Hunting  and  shooting  adventures  were  here,  too, 
the  subjects  of  conversation,  and  the  most  incredi- 
ble stories  were  served  up  in  the  most  classic  hunts- 
man's slang.  But  not  the  least  wonderful  was  the 
little  anecdote  of  the  three  marksmen  and  the 
clover  leaf.  The  story  ran  thus  :  — 

Three  wandering  hunters  once  stopped  at  a 
forest  tavern  and  disposed  themselves  comfortably. 
As  soon  as  they  had  partaken  abundantly  of  food 
and  drink,  they  called  the  host  to  them  and  asked 
him  if  he  would  like  to  see  something,  the  like  of 
which  nobody  had  ever  seen  before.  This  gratified 
the  host,  and  he  offered  them  free  drinks.  Then 
one  of  them  picked  a  clover  leaf,  the  second 
brought  a  ladder  and  fastened  the  clover  leaf  to 
the  gable  of  the  house,  while  the  third  measured 
off  a  hundred  paces  and  called  his  companions  to 
follow.  Then  the  first  one  began  and  shot  off  the 
first  leaf,  the  second  hit  the  second,  and  the  third 
the  third.  The  host  was  amazed,  and  gave  each 
of  the  fellows  another  drink  and  was  glad  when 
they  went  away. 

"  If  that  is  true,"  said  old  Henner,  "  the  fel- 
lows shot  with  charmed  bullets." 


THE   CLOVER  LEAF.  27 

And  so  thought  the  others. 

The  sunburned  Witsch,  however,  only  laughed 
and  said  it  was  child's  play ;  he  would  agree  to  do 
the  same  thing. 

"But  if  somebody  else  should  load  the  gun?" 
asked  one  of  the  men,  distrustfully. 

"  Whoever  will  may  load  the  gun,"  boldly  re- 
plied Witsch ;  "  but  he  must  be  honest  about  it." 

"  If  you  are  successful,"  exclaimed  the  old  Hen- 
ner,  half  intoxicated,  "then,  young  man,  I  will 
give  you  whatever  you  may  ask  of  me,  as  a  prize." 

"  Father !  "  admonished  the  maiden,  in  dismay. 

"  Whatever  you  may  ask  of  me,"  repeated  the 
forester. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Witsch  slowly,  "  I  will  shoot 
the  little  leaves  of  a  clover  from  the  stem,  a  hun- 
dred paces  off,  with  three  bullets  and  three  shots, 
and  you  promise  to  give  me  as  a  prize  whatever  I 
may  ask  of  you.  Is  it  a  bargain  ?  " 

"Don't  do  it,  father!  don't  do  it!"  cried  the 
maiden,  in  genuine  terror. 

"  Thou  little  fool !  "  said  the  father,  laughing ; 
and  the  woodsmen  joined  in  the  laughter.  No 
one  had  the  least  doubt  what  the  hunter  would 
demand  as  his  reward,  and  they  took  poor  Mar- 
garet's anguish  for  a  maiden's  modesty. 


28  THE    CLOVER  LEAF. 

"  It  is  a  bargain  1 "  cried  the  forester,  reaching 
out  his  hand,  "my  word  —  " 

"  Wait !  "  interrupted  an  old  huntsman.  "  Sup- 
posing the  little  affair  is  not  successful,  what  shall 
the  shooter  pay  as  a  forfeit  ? " 

"  Whatever  you  say,"  answered  Witsch. 

Margaret  had  risen  from  her  seat ;  she  was  as 
pale  as  death. 

"  Then  he  shall  go,"  she  said,  "  as  far  as  his  feet 
can  carry  him,  and  never  come  into  my  sight 
again." 

Witsch  bit  his  lips. 

"  All  right,  miss,"  said  he,  gritting  his  teeth ; 
"  so  shall  it  be.  Your  hand,  forester !  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honor." 

The  agreement  was  sealed. 

While  the  old  man  was  reprimanding  his 
daughter  in  a  trembling  voice,  the  sunburned 
Witsch  took  a  hasty  departure  and  went  on  his 
way.  Outside  the  club-house  a  crowd  of  sturdy, 
boisterous  fellows  were  hiding,  but  the  one  for 
whom  they  lay  in  wait  escaped  them.  He  proba- 
bly carried  fernseed  with  him. 

* 

*       * 

In  a  clearing  of  the  wood  at  the  foot  of  the 
Thorstein  mountain  lay  the  keeper's  lodge,  where 


THE   CLOVER  LEAF.  29 

old  Henner  dwelt.  Sad  at  heart,  he  sat  before 
the  door  on  the  stone  seat,  and  the  spotted  blood- 
hound who  was  lying  down  not  far  away  looked 
up  from  time  to  time  at  his  master.  He  would 
have  gladly  expressed  his  sympathy  by  a  dumb 
caress,  but  he  thought  it  wiser  not  to  come  too 
near  the  ill-humored  man.  The  old  man  was 
displeased  with  himself,  but  still  he  would  not 
admit  it.  He  would  have  given  his  little  finger 
if  he  could  have  taken  back  the  agreement  he 
had  made  with  his  assistant,  for  it  was  clear  to 
him  now  that  his  child  had  an  unconquerable 
aversion  to  Witsch,  and  although  he  tried  to 
console  himself  with  the  thought  that  dislike  is 
often  changed  to  affection  in  the  marriage  state, 
still,  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  wished  that 
Witsch  might  not  succeed  in  the  clover  trial. 

On  Midsummer  day,  which,  according  to  an 
old  custom,  is  kept  as  a  holiday  by  the  huntsmen, 
the  forester's  assistant  was  to  prove  his  skill,  and 
Midsummer  day  was  not  far  distant.  The  poor 
little  Margaret  went  about  pale  as  the  wood- 
nymph  who  sometimes  meets  the  shepherds  and 
charcoal-burners  on  moonlight  nights,  and  the 
father  hardly  had  the  heart  to  look  into  her  eyes, 
red  with  weeping. 


30  THE    CLOVER  LEAF. 

Now  Margaret  had  a  goat  named  Whitecoat, 
and  in  all  the  mountains  round  there  was  no 
goat  that  could  equal  her  in  intelligence.  White- 
coat  saw  very  clearly  that  her  mistress  was 
troubled  in  heart,  and  when  she  was  led  to  the 
meadow,  she  no  longer  leaped  gayly  about  Mar- 
garet as  was  her  wont,  but  went  sadly  along 
behind  her  with  drooping  ears. 

Midsummer  eve  had  come.  The  keeper's  lodge 
was  trimmed  with  wreaths  of  evergreen  and  gar- 
lands of  leaves  for  the  reception  of  the  guests; 
but  the  inmates  went  about  as  though  there  had 
been  a  death  in  the  house. 

Margaret  had  milked  her  goat,  and  now  was 
sitting  on  the  milking-stool,  with  her  hands  folded 
in  her  lap,  and  weeping  bitterly. 

"  Oh,  Whitecoat,"  she  said  sorrowfully,  "  why 
should  I  be  so  wretched?" 

It  seemed  as  though  the  goat  had  only  been 
waiting  for  her  to  speak  to  her,  for  to  the  maiden's 
astonishment  she  opened  her  rosy  mouth  and 
said :  — 

•  "  Thou  speakest  at  a  propitious  hour.  In  the 
sacred  Midsummer  night,  when  everything  is  set 
free  and  transformed,  we  animals  have  the  power 
of  speech,  and  I  may  answer  thee.  Tell  me  what 


THE    CLOVER  LEAF.  31 

troubles  thee,  and  perhaps  I  can  help  thee :  I  am 
no  ordinary  goat." 

"What  are  you,  then?"  asked  the  damsel. 
"  Are  you  perhaps  an  enchanted  princess  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Whitecoat;  "I  am  something 
better  than  that.  I  am  descended  in  a  direct 
line  from  one  of  the  goats  who  in  ancient  times 
used  to  draw  the  carriage  of  the  old  man  who 
sleeps  yonder  in  the  Thornstein.  But  thou  know- 
est  nothing  about  that.  However,  believe  me, 
I  am  more  than  other,  ordinary  goats,  and  I  am 
willing  to  help  thee,  if  it  is  in  my  power." 

"  Oh,  good  Whitecoat,  if  you  only  could  I " 

And  so  Margaret  related  her  trouble. 

The  goat  listened  attentively.  When  the 
maiden  had  finished,  she  said:  — 

"  Thou  must  never  belong  to  the  sunburnt 
Witsch.  He  is  in  league  with  the  devil,  and  I 
know  why.  To-morrow  it  will  be  three  years 
since  I  watched  him  in  the  forest.  It  was  about 
the  hour  of  noon,  over  on  yonder  meadow.  There 
he  stood  and  spread  out  a  white  cloth  before  him, 
and  just  as  the  sun's  disk  reached  the  zenith,  he 
shot  at  it  and  three  drops  of  blood  fell  on  the 
cloth.  He  took  it  up  and  hid  it  in  his  bosom. 
Since  that  time  he  has  never  missed  a  shot,  and 


32  THE    CLOVER  LEAF. 

to-morrow  he  will  hit  the  little  clover  leaves,  too, 
even  if  he  stand  a  hundred  miles  away  from  the 
mark." 

"You  see,  it  is  impossible  to  help  me,"  said 
Margaret,  with  a  groan. 

"Perhaps  not,"  returned  Whitecoat.  "It  would 
not  be  the  first  time  that  sorcery  has  come  to 
nought.  Lead  me  to-morrow  before  sunrise  to 
the  meadow,  and  perhaps  I  may  find  a  way  to 
help  you." 

"Where  is  the  girl  hiding?"  at  this  moment 
called  out  the  scolding  voice  of  old  Henner,  put- 
ting his  head  through  the  window  of  the  stable. 
"  Gone  to  sleep  while  milking !  —  Come  out,  Mar- 
garet, and  get  my  supper  ready." 

The  maiden  jumped  up  from  the  milking-stool, 
where  she  had  fallen  asleep,  stroked  good  White- 
coat's  head,  and  went  to  her  father. 

The  dream  —  for  such  it  must  have  been  — 
kept  going  round  and  round  in  the  maiden's  head. 
Before  daybreak  she  led  the  goat  to  the  meadow, 
and  when  she  brought  her  back  later  to  the  lodge, 
Whitecoat  sprang  gayly  along  like  a  young  kid, 
and  Margaret  looked  peaceful,  or  rather  almost 
happy,  so  that  her  father  shook  his  gray  head  in 
surprise. 


THE    CLOVER  LEAF.  33 

The  invited  guests  came,  and  among  them  was 
the  forester's  assistant  Witsch.  He  looked  about 
insolently  and  seemed  sure  of  his  success.  Mar- 
garet welcomed  him  just  the  same  as  she  did  the 
other  guests,  but  she  avoided  him  as  much  as 
possible. 

When  the  guests  were  all  present,  old  Hen- 
ner  stepped  into  their  circle  and  renewed  the 
promise  which  he  had  given  to  his  assistant  at 
the  tournament,  and  the  latter  announced  that  he 
was  ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to  prove  his  skill. 

The  forester  looked  anxiously  at  his  daughter 
and  said :  — 

"Get  a  clover  leaf  at  once,  and  fasten  it  with 
wax  to  the  barn  door." 

A  clover  leaf  was  already  at  hand,  and  Marga- 
ret fastened  it  to  the  door  with  trembling  fingers. 

The  young  hunter  measured  his  distance.  A 
hundred  paces  had  been  stipulated,  but  the  ar- 
rogant fellow  doubled  the  number  of  his  own 
free  will.  The  clover  leaf  could  hardly  be  seen 
from  this  great  distance.  One  of  the  huntsmen 
loaded  the  gun  before  the  eyes  of  the  others  and 
handed  it  to  the  marksman.  He  raised  the  gun 
and  fired,  apparently  without  taking  aim ;  he  let 
the  other  two  shots  follow  just  as  quickly. 


34  THE    CLOVER  LEAF. 

"Now  go  and  see!"  he  cried,  sure  of  his  suc- 
cess, and  looked  with  wild  joy  towards  the  beau- 
tiful Margaret,  who  stood  in  the  distance,  with 
quick-beating  heart. 

The  witnesses  hastened  to  the  barn  door,  while 
Witsch  went  towards  the  maiden. 

Then  they  called  out  to  him  :  — 

"Witsch,  you  have  lost;  one  little  leaf  still 
remains  on  the  stem." 

"  Impossible !  "  cried  the  huntsman,  rushing 
towards  the  door.  But  it  was  no  illusion.  The 
three  bullets  had  pierced  the  wood  one  after 
another,  but  on  the  stem  of  the  clover  still  hung 
one  uninjured  leaf. 

The  huntsman's  black  eyes  shot  fire.  Then 
he  raised  his  fist  towards  heaven  and  uttered 
such  a  horrible  curse  that  it  made  the  cold 
shivers  run  down  the  men's  backs,  and  then  with- 
out a  word  he  strode  off  into  the  wild  forest. 

But  the  beautiful  Margaret  had  hastened  to 
her  goat,  and  laughing  and  weeping  embraced 
the  neck  of  her  rescuer. 

The  wise  Whitecoat  had  led  the  maiden  that 
morning  to  a  place  where  she  found  a  four-leaved 
clover,  and  no  magic  could  make  a  marksman 
hit  four  leaflets  with  three  shots. 


THE    CLOVER  LEAF.  35 

The  uncanny  Witsch  never  let  himself  be 
seen  again  in  the  neighborhood;  it  was  as  if 
the  earth  had  swallowed  him  up.  Afterward, 
the  forest  people  say  they  have  seen  him  in  the 
company  of  the  wild  huntsman,  but  the  matter 
remains  quite  uncertain. 

The  marks  of  the  three  bullets  can  still  be 
seen  in  the  barn  door,  and  a  descendant  of  the 
wise  goat  Whitecoat  was  shown  to  me  when  I 
heard  the  wonderful  tale  related  on  the  spot, 
and  so  the  story  must  indeed  be  true. 


THE  ADDEK-QUEEK 


r INHERE  was  once  a  young  shepherd  who  pos- 
sessed two  things  besides  the  homely  clothes 
which  he  wore  on  his  back,  —  his  fife,  and  his 
Mechthild,  a  plump,  brown  little  maid  with  lips 
as  red  as  cherries.  The  fife  he  had  carved  out 
himself ;  the  maid  he  had  found  in  the  forest, 
where  her  father  burned  charcoal.  They  were 
both  agreed  that  some  time  they  would  become 
man  and  wife.  The  old  charcoal-burner  had  noth- 
ing against  it  either,  and  they  might  have  been 
married  right  away  if  they  had  had  anything 
besides  their  love ;  but  love  alone,  be  it  ever  so 
warm,  will  not  cook  the  supper  nor  heat  the 
children's  broth.  "  So,  let  us  wait,"  thought 
they,  and  hoped  for  better  times.  One  day  the 
beautiful  Mechthild  was  sitting  not  far  from  the 
charcoal  kiln,  where  her  father  was  busy  stirring 
the  fire,  and  near  her  stood  her  lover,  while  the 
sheep  were  wandering  about  in  the  wood,  guarded 


THE  ADDER-QUEEN.  37 

by  the  dog.  Over  the  maiden's  head  an  old 
mountain-ash  spread  its  boughs,  from  which  hung 
bunches  of  scarlet  berries.  She  had  plucked  a 
number  of  them,  and  was  now  engaged  in  string- 
ing the  single  berries  on  a  long  thread.  This 
made  a  splendid  coral  necklace.  Wendelin,  as 
the  young  shepherd  was  called,  watched  the  maid 
as  she  moved  her  little  fingers  busily,  and  then 
he  looked  on  her  rosy  cheeks,  her  smooth  brow 
and  all  her  charms  one  after  another,  and  thought 
to  himself,  "  How  lovely  she  is !  " 

Now  the  string  of  jewels  was  finished.  Mech- 
thild  twined  it  around  the  tightly  twisted  braids 
of  her  dark-brown  hair,  and  smiled  at  her  lover 
like  a  happy  child.  But  he  looked  suddenly  sor- 
rowful. "Ah,  Mechthild,"  he  sighed,  "why  am  I 
so  poor?  Why  can  I  not  place  a  gold  ring  on 
thy  finger  or  put  a  garnet  necklace  around  thy 
ueck  ?  " 

"It  is  no  worse  now  than  it  has  been,"  said 
the  maid,  consolingly.  "But  are  the  red  berries 
not  beautiful  ?  " 

The  shepherd  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  her 
words.  He  was  looking  at  the  smoke  which  arose 
from  the  charcoal  kiln  and  floated  away  in  blue 
clouds  over  the  tops  of  the  fir-trees.  "  Why  will 


38  THE   ADDER-QUEEN. 

good  luck  never  visit  me  ?  "  said  he  sadly.  "  There 
are  so  many  treasures  lying  concealed  and  be- 
witched in  the  mountains ;  but  fortune  only  laughs 
at  stupid  people;  and  when  they  are  about  to 
seize  the  gold  exultingly,  it  sinks  miles  deep  into 
the  earth.  I  have  been  into  the  forest  at  every 
hour  of  the  night,  but  no  blue  flames  light  up 
for  me,  no  pale  lady  beckons  to  me,  and  no  dwarf 
leads  me  to  the  treasure  in  the  hollow  stone." 

"  Wendelin,"  said  the  maiden,  earnestly,  "  don't 
go  about  digging  and  searching  for  magic  treas- 
ures !  No  good  will  come  of  it."  And  she  con- 
tinued playfully,  "You  can  more  easily  win  great 
riches  through  the  golden-horned  stag,  on  which 
Lady  Holle  rides  through  the  forest.  Every  year 
the  magic  deer  sheds  his  antlers.  Seek  for  them, 
my  Wendelin !  Those  of  this  year  must  still  be 
lying  somewhei'e  in  the  wood." 

The  charcoal-burner  had  come  along  and  heard 
the  last  words.  "Oho,"  he  said,  "so  you  would 
like  to  find  the  golden  antlers?  You  ask  for  a 
great  deal.  Wouldn't  a  handful  of  golden  flax- 
seed  husks  do  as  well?  Or  how  would  you  like 
the  little  crown  belonging  to  the  Adder-Queen, 
who  lives  under  the  red  stone  by  the  water?  If 
there  is  anything  I  wish  for,  it  is  the  fernseed, 


THE  ADDER-QUEEN.  39 

which  makes  one  invisible.  Oh,  what  fun  I 
would  have !  What  a  face  the  big  landlord  of 
the  Bear  would  make  up,  if  every  evening  I 
could  make  his  best  beer-barrel  lighter  and  fish 
the  biggest  sausage  out  of  the  kettle  without  his 
seeing  me ! " 

They  went  on  talking  in  the  same  strain. 
Much  was  said  about  the  magic  pervading  the 
forest,  and  the  shepherd  became  more  and  more 
thoughtful.  He  usually  played  a  tune  on  his 
fife  to  his  sweetheart  before  he  left  her;  but  to- 
day he  never  gave  it  a  thought  when  the  time 
came  for  his  departure.  With  head  bent  down 
he  went  after  the  flock,  which  the  dog  kept  to- 
gether by  his  barking. 

The  sun  had  almost  finished  his  course,  and 
a  ruddy  glow  lay  on  the  mountains  when  the 
shepherd  came  out  of  the  woods  with  the  sheep. 
Before  him  lay  a  green  field,  through  the  midst 
of  which  ran  a  broad,  shallow  brook,  and  on  the 
further  side  of  the  water,  like  a  gigantic  grave- 
stone, stood  a  single  rock  of  a  reddish  color. 
Bramble-bushes  and  golden-yellow  broom  grew 
luxuriantly  about  it,  and  to  the  crevices  clung 
moss  and  wild  thyme.  Here,  then,  was  where  the 
Adder-Princess  was  said  to  dwell. 


40  THE  ADDER-QUEEN. 

After  the  sheep  had  satisfied  their  thirst,  the 
shepherd  drove  them  through  the  brook,  for  the 
town  where  he  and  the  flock  belonged  lay  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mountain.  He  intended  to  pass 
by  the  red  stone  as  usual,  but  he  stood  chained 
to  the  spot,  for  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  something 
stirred  in  the  bushes. 

"  If  it  should  be  the  Adder-Queen !  "  thought 
he;  and  as  he  had  once  heard  that  snakes  loved 
to  hear  violin  and  flute  playing,  he  drew  his  fife 
out  of  his  shepherd's  pouch,  and  began  to  play  a 
gentle  melody. 

But  lo  and  behold !  There,  out  of  the  broom, 
arose  the  head  of  a  great  white  snake,  forking 
her  tongue  and  wearing  a  shining  crown. 

The  youth  was  so  frightened  that  he  stopped 
playing  his  fife,  and  in  a  twinkling  the  Adder 
had  vanished. 

What  the  charcoal-burner  had  said  was  true 
then.  The  shepherd  timidly  retreated,  and  drove 
the  flock  in  a  wide  circuit  around  the  stone  to 
the  town. 

The  Adder-Queen,  or,  rather,  her  golden  crown, 
lay  on  his  mind  day  and  night.  But  how  should 
he  contrive  to  get  possession  of  the  ornament? 
The  old  village  blacksmith  was  a  wise  man,  and 


THE  ADDER-QUEEN.  41 

knew  a  great  deal  besides  how  to  eat  his  bread; 
perhaps  something  might  be  learned  about  it  from 
him.  So  he  betook  himself  one  evening  to  the 
blacksmith's,  after  the  master  and  his  apprentices 
had  left  off  working;  for  a  pretence,  asked  some 
advice  in  regard  to  a  sick  sheep,  and  after  beat- 
ing about  the  bush  for  some  time,  finally  brought 
the  conversation  round  to  the  Adder-Queen.  He 
had  come  to  the  right  person.  The  old  black- 
smith knew  quite  enough  about  the  ways  to  get 
possession  of  the  little  crown,  and  was  not  at  all 
loth  to  show  his  knowledge. 

"Whoever  would  rob  the  Adder-Queen  of  her 
crown,"  he  explained,  "  has  nothing  more  to  do 
than  to  spread  a  white  cloth  on  the  ground  be- 
fore the  hole  where  she  lives.  Immediately  the 
snake  will  come  out,  lay  the  jewel  on  the  cloth, 
and  disappear  again.  Now  is  the  time  to  seize 
it  quickly,  and  with  all  possible  speed  to  strive 
to  reach  water.  For  as  soon  as  the  Adder-Queen 
notices  that  she  has  been  robbed,  she  will  start 
after  the  fugitive,  hissing  frightfully;  and  if  he 
cannot  get  across  water,  he  is  a  dead  man.  But 
if  he  is  fortunate  enough  to  reach  the  farther 
shore,  the  serpent  can  do  him  no  harm,  and  the 
crown  is  his." 


42  THE  ADDER-QUEEN. 

This  was  the  blacksmith's  story,  and  the  shep- 
herd drank  in  every  word. 

Some  days  later  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the 
charcoal-burner  was  sitting  in  front  of  their  cot- 
tage. All  of  a  sudden  her  lover  came  running 
with  all  his  might,  threw  a  little  sparkling  coro- 
net into  her  lap,  and  dropped  lifeless  on  the 
ground. 

Mechthild  gave  a  scream.  Her  father  came  to 
her,  and  a  glance  at  the  jewel  told  him  what 
had  happened.  "  He  has  stolen  the  little  crown 
from  the  Adder-Queen,"  said  he.  Then  he  lifted 
the  swooning  youth,  bore  him  into  the  hut,  and 
tried  to  bring  him  back  to  consciousness. 

His  efforts  were  successful,  but  the  whole  night 
long  he  lay  tossing  in  delirium  on  the  couch  of 
leaves :  not  till  morning  did  rest  come  to  him. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  he  recovered  entirely 
and  was  able  to  talk.  Anxiety  and  care  retreated 
from  the  charcoal-burner's  cottage,  and  joy  en- 
tered in.  There  lay  the  hard- won  serpent's  jewel 
before  the  lovers,  who  sat  together  hand  in  hand, 
making  plans  for  the  future.  Of  course  they 
could  not  keep  the  little  crown ;  it  must  go  to 
the  goldsmith's  in  the  town :  but  in  its  place  the 
bridal  wreath  would  soon  adorn  the  beautiful 


THE  ADDER-QUEEN.  43 

Mechthild's  head;  and  after  the  wedding  festiv- 
ities were  over,  Wendelin  would  take  his  young 
wife  to  a  pleasant  little  house,  and  they  would 
kindle  a  fire  on  their  own  hearth.  Oh,  blissful 
time !  Oh,  blissful  time ! 

On  the  following  morning  Wendelin  returned 
to  the  village.  He  wisely  avoided  the  red  stone. 

The  Adder-Queen's  crown  had  twelve  points, 
each  tipped  with  a  blood-red  stone.  As  soon 
as  her  lover  was  gone,  Mechthild  took  it  out  of 
the  chest,  where  she  had  hidden  it  away,  and 
placed  it  on  her  head.  It  was  indeed  a  very 
different  ornament  from  the  red  berries  of  the 
mountain-ash.  If  she  only  could  see  how  becom- 
ing the  jewels  were;  but  there  was  no  looking- 
glass  in  the  charcoal-burner's  cottage.  Whenever 
Mechthild  wished  to  look  at  her  nut-brown  face, 
she  ran  to  the  well-spring,  which  bubbled  up  out 
of  the  mould  of  the  forest,  not  far  from  the  char- 
coal-kiln ;  and  hither  she  turned  her  footsteps 
now.  She  bent  over  the  clear  water,  and  was 
charmed  with  her  sparkling  ornament.  "You 
like  me,  don't  you?"  she  said  to  a  fat  frog  sit- 
ting on  the  edge  of  the  spring.  And  the  frog 
said,  "Gloog!"  jumped  into  the  water,  and  dived 
under  to  tell  the  lady-frog  at  the  bottom  what 


44  THE  ADDER-QUEEN. 

a  wonderful  sight  he  had  beheld.  A  gray-green 
lizard  rustled  through  the  leaves;  she  raised  her 
head  and  looked  curiously  at  the  bejewelled 
maid.  Then  she  slipped  away  into  her  under- 
ground chamber,  and  told  her  sisters  about  the 
beautiful  damsel  with  the  crown  in  her  hair. 
And  the  blue  titmice  came  fluttering  inquisi- 
tively by,  and  the  golden-crested  wrens  bristled 
their  tufts  with  envy,  when  they  saw  the  glis- 
tening jewels  on  the  maiden's  head.  The  squir- 
rel peeped  out  curiously  from  behind  the  trunk 
of  a  pine-tree,  and  a  weasel  frisked  about  over 
the  wood-plants  to  take  a  look  at  the  crowned 
maiden. 

Tramp,  tramp,  now  sounded  in  her  ears;  per- 
haps it  was  a  red  deer,  attracted  by  the  glitter 
of  her  crown.  But  no;  stags  and  does  do  not 
tread  the  earth  with  hoofs  that  are  shod:  it  is 
the  sound  of  horses.  Bright  dresses  could  be 
seen  between  the  branches  of  the  trees,  and  the 
merry  sound  of  people's  voices  came  through 
the  air.  She  sprang  away  from  the  brim  of  the 
well,  and  was  about  to  hasten  to  the  house, 
but  the  riders  had  already  drawn  up  in  front  of 
the  charcoal-burner's  cottage.  There  were  gen- 
tlemen in  rich  hunting-costume  and  ladies  in 


THE  ADDER-QUEEN.  45 

long,  flowing  riding-dresses,  slender  young  falcon- 
ers, and  sunburned  huntsmen  with  long  beards. 

The  maiden  dropped  a  low  courtesy.  The 
stately  gentleman  on  the  roan  horse  was  the 
count  who  owned  the  land,  and  the  beautiful 
lady  by  his  side  was  his  young  wife. 

Mechthild  replied  respectfully  to  the  question 
concerning  the  nearest  way  to  the  meadow, 
through  which  the  water  flowed.  Then  the 
countess  caught  sight  of  the  crown  on  the  maid- 
en's head,  and  cried  out  in  the  greatest  surprise, 
"Tell  me,  my  dear  girl,  how  you  came  by  such 
jewelry  as  that." 

The  maiden,  in  her  embarrassment,  made  no 
reply;  but  the  charcoal-burner,  who  had  come 
along  in  the  meantime,  answered  shrewdly,  "It 
is  an  old  heir-loom,  most  gracious  lady;  some- 
thing my  great-grandfather  brought  home  from 
the  war  in  Italy.  If  it  pleases  you,  pray  take 
it." 

The  countess  had  the  crown  brought  to  her, 
and  the  maids  of  honor,  who  accompanied  her, 
looked  curiously  at  the  precious  ornament. 

"  I  must  have  the  little  crown,"  said  the  lady, 
casting  a  tender  glance  toward  the  count. 

He  smiled  and  unfastened  a  heavy  purse  from 


46  THE  ADDER-QUEEN. 

his  belt.  "Take  that  for  the  crown,"  said  he  to 
the  charcoal-burner;  "it  is  gold.  You  foolish 
people  have  probably  never  known  what  a  treas- 
ure your  cottage  concealed." 

The  maids  of  honor  fastened  the  crown  with 
two  silver  pins  to  their  lady's  velvet  hood ;  then 
the  riders  spurred  on  their  horses,  waved  a  fare- 
well to  the  charcoal-burner  and  his  daughter, 
and  galloped  off  through  the  woods. 

The  hunters  had  soon  left  the  forest  behind, 
and  before  them  lay  the  broad  meadow  valley  and 
the  red  stone. 

The  lazily-flowing  brook  formed  here  and  there 
pools  and  little  eddies,  much  frequented  by  ducks, 
herons,  and  other  water-fowl.  The  hawkers  gave 
the  falcons  over  to  the  ladies,  and  all  eyes  were 
directed  towards  the  reeds  surrounding  the  water. 

And  now  up  flew  a  silver  heron,  noisily  flap- 
ping his  wings.  The  countess  quickly  took  the 
hood  from  the  falcon's  head,  and  let  him  loose. 
Screaming,  the  falcon  flew  aloft,  till  he  hovered 
over  the  heron.  Then  he  swooped  down,  cleverly 
avoided  the  threatening  bill,  and  seized  the  bird 
with  his  talons.  For  some  time  there  was  a  fierce 
struggle  in  the  air;  then  both  circled  round  and 
round,  and  the  vanquished  heron  fell  with  flapping 
wings  on  the  meadow  near  the  red  stone. 


THE  ADDER-QUEEN.  47 

The  countess  was  the  first  to  reach  the  spot 
where  he  fell.  Her  cheeks  glowing  with  excite- 
ment, she  sprang  out  of  the  saddle  to  release  the 
heron  from  the  falcon's  talons,  and  to  place  the  sil- 
ver ring,  which  bore  her  name,  on  his  foot.  Then 
she  gave  a  sudden  cry  and  fell  on  the  ground. 

Her  terrified  companions  hastened  to  her  side. 
The  count  took  his  young  wife  in  his  arms,  and 
anxiously  inquired  what  had  happened.  She  cried 
out  with  pain  and  pointed  to  her  foot.  The  count 
bent  down,  and  saw  that  her  silk  stocking  was 
stained  with  a  drop  of  blood. 

"  You  have  scratched  yourself  with  a  thorn," 
he  said,  laughing;  "that  is  nothing."  But  the 
lady  moaned  slightly,  her  temples  began  to  beat 
violently,  and  her  face  grew  as  pale  as  death. 

The  terror-stricken  count  gave  orders  for  two 
huntsmen  to  go  for  doctors.  He  himself  wrapped 
his  wife  in  his  mantle,  took  her  in  front  of  him 
on  his  saddle,  and,  followed  by  the  others,  gal- 
loped at  full  speed  toward  the  nearest  village. 
There  he  had  a  couch  prepared  for  the  sufferer, 
and  anxiously  waited  for  the  doctors  to  come. 

Her  malady  grew  worse  from  hour  to  hour. 
The  old  smith,  whose  advice  was  asked,  looked  at 
the  wound  and  shook  his  head,  and  said  that  it 


48  THE  ADDER-QUEEN. 

was  no  thorn-prick,  but  rather  the  bite  of  a 
poisonous  serpent.  The  same  opinion  was  given 
later  by  the  doctors.  They  spoke  Latin  together, 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  used  salves  and  po- 
tions as  their  art  prescribed.  But  they  did  no 
good.  The  sufferer  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  and 
when  the  evening  star  hung  over  the  forest,  she 
lay  unconscious  on  her  bed  of  pain.  Death  stood 
without  before  the  door. 

In  the  meantime  Wendelin,  the  shepherd,  was 
driving  his  flock  home  to  the  village.  Mechthild 
had  told  him  how  the  countess  had  purchased  the 
serpent's  crown,  and  then  they  counted  the  pieces 
of  gold  and  took  counsel  about  the  spending  of 
the  money.  Now  the  shepherd  was  cheerfully 
wending  his  way  along  in  front  of  his  flock  and 
playing  a  little  tune  on  his  fife. 

Then  suddenly  his  breath  failed  him,  and  his 
hair  stood  on  end.  Out  of  the  bushes  before  him 
came  the  Adder-Queen,  and  raised  her  crownless 
head,  forking  her  tongue  at  him. 

"  Stand  still,  or  you  shall  die ! "  hissed  the 
snake.  And  the  poor  youth  stood  still,  and  clung 
to  his  crook  with  trembling  hands. 

"  Listen,  young  man,  to  what  I  tell  you,"  said 
the  serpent.  "  The  lady  who  wore  my  crown  is 


THE  ADDER-QUEEN.  49 

sick  unto  death ;  I  stung  her  in  the  foot.  But  I 
guard  the  plant  whose  juice  will  make  her  well. 
Follow  me,  and  I  will  show  you  the  healing  herb." 

The  snake  glided  through  the  grass,  and  the 
shepherd  followed  her  with  beating  heart.  The 
adder  stopped  near  the  red  stone.  She  broke  off 
an  herb  and  handed  it  to  the  shepherd.  It  was  a 
delicate  little  plant,  and  resembled  the  forked 
tongue  of  a  serpent. 

"  Now  hasten,"  said  the  adder,  "  as  fast  as  you 
can  to  the  village  where  the  sick  lady  lies  ;  and  if 
you  let  one  drop  of  the  sap  of  the  plant  fall  on 
her  wound,  she  will  be  cured.  But  as  a  reward 
demand  the  crown,  and  bring  it  back  to  me. 
Swear  that  you  will." 

The  trembling  shepherd  swore  as  the  Adder- 
Queen  desired,  then  hastened  to  the  village,  and 
asked  to  be  taken  to  the  sufferer. 

The  countess  was  still  living,  but  her  breathing 
was  faint.  On  her  right  sat  the  count,  with  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands ;  on  her  left  sat  a  priest 
murmuring  prayers. 

"Try  your  skill,"  said  the  count  to  the  shep- 
herd. "  If  you  succeed  in  healing  her,  I  will  make 
you  rich." 

Then  the  shepherd  raised  his  eyes  to  Heaven  in 


50  THE  ADDER-QUEEN. 

a  hasty  prayer  and  let  one  drop  of  the  sap  of  the 
herb  fall  on  the  wound.  The  sufferer  at  once 
opened  her  eyes  and  took  a  long  breath.  Then 
she  lifted  her  beautiful  head  from  the  pillows  and 
looked  confidingly  at  her  husband.  And  from 
that  hour  the  fever  left  her,  and  with  the  dawn 
the  countess'  cheeks  again  took  on  their  rosy 
color,  and  all  her  suffering  had  passed  away. 

She  gave  the  crown  gladly  to  the  shepherd  who 
had  healed  her,  and  he,  true  to  his  oath,  carried  it 
without  delay  to  the  red  stone  by  the  water,  where 
the  Adder-Queen  received  it. 

The  count  kept  his  word  too.  He  presented 
the  shepherd  with  a  stately  mansion,  in  which 
Mechthild  soon  made  her  entrance  as  bride. 

Whether  the  Adder-Queen  still  dwells  under  the 
red  stone  by  the  water,  and  whether  she  still  wears 
her  little  crown,  that  I  cannot  tell.  But  the 
manor  which  the  count  gave  to  the  shepherd,  is 
still  standing,  and  is  called  Schlangenhof,  or  the 
Serpent's  Court. 


THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BEIDE. 


TN  the  midst  of  the  forest  was  a  black-green 
lake  surrounded  by  very  ancient  giant  fir-trees. 
The  brooklets  which  came  leaping  down  from 
every  height  like  wanton  kids,  grew  more  and 
more  quiet  as  they  approached  the  pond,  and 
finally  flowed  silently  into  the  dark  water.  And 
when  they  came  into  sight  again  at  the  outlet  of 
the  lake,  united  in  a  stately  stream,  it  was  as  if 
they  had  seen  something  uncanny,  for  they  ran 
swiftly  over  gravel  and  stones,  and  only  when  they 
had  left  a  good  bit  of  their  course  behind  them, 
did  the  waters  again  begin  to  murmur  and  to  bab- 
ble, and  the  white-breasted  water-thrush,  whose 
nest  was  on  the  bank,  overheard  strange  things. 
Now  there  lived  in  one  of  the  villages  which 
lay  scattered  among  the  forest  mountains  a  young 
fisherman  who  earned  his  livelihood  with  net  and 
hook.  The  bright-colored  trout  in  the  brooks 
crowded  about  the  bait  that  he  threw  to  them,  and 


52  THE  BLACKSMITHS  BRIDE. 

when  he  drew  his  net  through  the  waters  of  the 
forest  lake,  huge  pike  and  big  bream  with  long 
whiskers  floundered  in  the  meshes,  so  that  he  had 
some  difficulty  in  bringing  his  haul  to  land. 

One  day  he  was  sitting  on  the  shore  of  the  lake 
watching  his  hook.  It  seemed  to  him  that  just 
beneath  the  smooth  surface  he  saw  a  woman's  face 
of  rare  beauty.  He  was  frightened,  and  jumped 
up  from  his  seat.  Just  then  there  was  a  rustling 
in  the  bushes,  and  when  he  turned  around  he 
looked  into  the  mild  eyes  of  a  maiden  carrying 
a  scythe  over  her  shoulders. 

"Are  you  busy,  Heini?"  asked  the  pretty 
maid ;  and  the  fisherman  told  her  what  he  was 
doing. 

"Heini,"  continued  the  maiden,  "let  me  give 
you  some  advice  ;  it  is  kindly  meant.  Let  the  fish 
be  in  the  lake.  The  people  tell  dreadful  stories 
about  —  about  —  " 

"  About  the  water-sprite,"  interrupted  the 
youth. 

"  Be  still !  for  Heaven's  sake,  be  still !  "  said  the 
maiden,  timidly.  "  Listen  to  me,  Heini,  and  keep 
away  from  these  quiet  waters.  You  will  find  fish 
enough  somewhere  else.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  you 
should  some  day  find  your  cottage  afloat  on  the 
water." 


THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE.  53 

"  Gertrude,"  said  the  fisherman,  angrily,  "  why 
must  you  worry  so  about  that  ? " 

The  maiden  turned  aside.  "  Yes,  I  should  feel 
badly,  very  badly,  for  I  love  you  like  a  sister. 
You  have  known  that  for  a  long  time." 

"Like  a  sister,"  sighed  the  youth,  and  then 
they  were  silent. 

A  fish  leaped  up  out  of  the  water,  and  Heini 
seized  his  rod  as  if  in  a  dream. 

"  Good  by,"  said  the  maiden. 

"Good  by,  Gertrude.     Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  the  blacksmith's.  The  scythe —  You 
know  it  is  haying-time  now.  The  blacksmith 
has  to  mend  the  scythe." 

"  Go,  then ! "  said  the  fisherman,  roughly,  and 
turned  his  face  towards  the  lake. 

Once  more  the  maiden  called  out  in  a  gentle 
voice,  "  Good  by,  Heini ;  do  as  I  have  asked  you." 

But  the  youth  gave  her  no  answer.  The 
maiden  turned  away,  and  went  on  into  the 
woods. 

Silent  and  sullen,  the  fisherman  looked  after  his 
jerking  rod,  and  as  he  cut  open  the  throat  of  a  big 
pike  that  he  had  caught,  his  eyes  shone  with  an 
uncanny  light. 

The  young  fellow  sat  a  long  time  by  the  pond. 


54  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE. 

The  mountain-tops  took  on  a  rosy  hue,  and  the 
trees  cast  long  shadows  on  the  mirror-like  surface 
of  the  water.  A  magpie  fluttered  along,  laughed 
in  her  way,  and  said :  — 

" '  Black  and  white  is  the  suit  I  wear; 
Black  the  smith,  but  the  maiden  fair. 
When  the  smith  his  love  embraced, 
Her  lily-white  brow  with  soot  was  defaced." 

With  a  loud  laugh  the  magpie  flew  off  into  the 
dark  forest,  and  the  fisherman  hastily  gathered 
up  his  belongings  and  left  the  lake  with  a  heavy 

heart. 

• 
*      * 

Weeks  and  weeks  had  passed  away.  Ileini 
was  again  sitting  by  the  pond  in  the  forest,  but 
he  was  not  fishing.  He  was  leaning  his  head  on 
his  hands  and  gazing  into  the  water.  The  poor 
fellow  looked  utterly  wretched;  the  color  had 
faded  from  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  were  dull 
and  sad.  And  as  he  thus  gazed  down  into  the 
depths  of  the  water,  he  thought  that  he  again 
saw  the  form  of  a  lovely  woman,  beckoning  to 
him  with  her  white  hand. 

"Yes,  it  would  be  much  better  for  me  if  I 
were  laid  away  down  below  there,"  he  groaned. 
"  Oh,  if  it  were  only  all  ended ! " 


THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE.  55 

A  low  chuckling  startled  him.  He  looked 
around;  but  this  time  it  was  no  rosy-cheeked 
maiden,  but  an  old,  toothless  woman,  who  stood 
behind  him.  On  her  arm  hung  a  basket  full  of 
scarlet  toad-stools. 

"Oh,  it  is  you,  is  it,  Mother  Bridget?" 

"  Yes,  my  little  son ;  it  is.  I  heard  your  sighs 
away  off  in  the  forest  there.  I  know,  too,  why 
you  groan  like  a  tree  cleft  to  the  heart.  I've 
been  in  the  church  to-day  and  heard  how  the 
minister  has  published  the  banns  of  your  fair- 
haired  sweetheart  and  Hans,  the  forest  black- 
smith. I  saw  the  maiden's  bridal  linen,  too,  and 
the  gay  bedstead,  with  its  two  flaming  red  hearts." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  woman ! "  growled  the 
fisherman. 

"  Oho !  not  so  hasty,  my  son !    Choke  it  down. 

Slender  maidens,  young  and  sweet, 
'Neath  the  moon  you  still  may  meet. 

If  there  isn't  one,  there's  another." 

The  youth  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and 
motioned  the  woman  away.  But  the  old  woman 
did  not  go. 

"You  are  my  sweetheart,  my  own  little  son," 
she  said  flatteringly.  "  You  have  brought  me 
many  a  supper  of  fish,  and  I  have  not  forgotten 


56  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE. 

the  otter  skin  you  gave  me  for  a  warm  hood.  I 
will  help  you,  my  precious  lad,  I  will  help  you." 

The  youth  suddenly  jumped  up.  "Mother 
Bridget,"  he  said,  trembling,  "people  say  —  " 

"That  I  am  a  witch.  No,  I  am  not  able  to 
anoint  the  tongs  so  that  they  will  carry  me  out 
at  the  chimney  and  through  the  air;  but  I  know 
a  thing  or  two,  my  son;  I  know  a  thing  or  two 
that  few  people  besides  myself  know  about,  and 
if  you  wish,  I  will  serve  you  with  my  art." 

"Can  you  brew  a  love-potion,  Mother  Bridget?" 
asked  Heini,  in  a  whisper. 

"  No,  but  I  know  another  little  trick.  And 
if  you  do  as  I  tell  you,  she  will  never  become 
his  wife,  for  all  their  exchanging  of  rings  and 
getting  blessed  by  the  priest.  Whenever  he, 
glowing  with  love,  wishes  to  take  his  maiden  to 
his  heart,  she  shall  turn  away  from  him ;  and 
whenever  she  eagerly  longs  to  twine  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  he  shall  push  her  away.  Then 
at  last,  if  he  leaves  her  or  she  grows  tired  of 
him,  she  will  still  be  yours.  That  I  can  do, 
and  I  will  teach  you  the  spell." 

"  Tell  me  how,"  said  Heini,  in  an  under- 
tone; and  the  old  woman  began  to  whisper  in 
his  ear. 


THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE.  57 

"Buy  a  steel  padlock  of  the  locksmith,  and 
pay  whatever  price  he  asks  without  haggling, 
saying,  'In  Gottes  Namen.' 

"  Then  on  the  day  of  the  wedding  go  to  the 
church, — pay  close  attention,  my  son, — and  when 
the  priest  unites  the  pair  at  the  altar,  clap  the 
lock  together,  saying  in  a  low  voice,  'in  Teufels 
Namen.'  Then  throw  the  padlock  into  the  lake, 
and  what  I  have  predicted  will  come  true.  Have 
you  understood  me?" 

"  I  have  understood,"  answered  the  fisherman, 
and  a  cold  shiver  ran  down  his  back. 


The  bells  were  pealing  from  the  tower,  and 
happy  people  in  gay  holiday  attire  were  making 
their  way  through  the  arched  doorway  of  the 
church.  The  young  blacksmith  is  to  wed  the 
beautiful  Gertrude.  Indeed,  she  is  beautiful,  and 
her  yellow  hair  shines  in  the  sunlight  falling 
aslant  through  the  window,  even  brighter  than 
her  bridal  wreath  of  tinsel  and  glass  beads. 
Now  the  choir-master  takes  his  seat  on  the 
organ-bench;  his  wrinkled  face  beams  with  joy 
as  he  thinks  of  the  wedding  millet-broth,  which, 


58  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE. 

according  to  an  old  custom,  must  be  so  stiff  that 
the  spoon  will  stand  up  in  it ;  and  of  the  leg  of 
lamb,  which  comes  after  the  broth.  He  draws 
out  all  the  stops,  the  mighty  tones  of  the  organ 
peal  through  the  church,  and  the  wooden  angels 
over  the  chancel  blowing  trumpets  puff  out  their 
cheeks  even  more  than  usual.  Then  everything 
is  still ;  the  minister  raises  his  voice  and  ad- 
dresses the  couple,  kneeling  before  the  altar. 
He  has  never  before  been  so  impressive  as  to- 
day. The  women  feel  after  their  handkerchiefs, 
and  here  and  there  is  heard  a  muffled  choking 
and  sobbing. 

Now  the  minister  took  the  wedding-ring  from 
the  plate,  which  stood  on  the  altar.  Then  the 
bride  raised  her  eyes,  but  quickly  dropped  them 
again,  for  she  saw  the  fisherman  Heini  leaning 
against  a  pillar.  He  looked  deathly  pale;  he 
held  his  right  hand  in  his  jacket  pocket,  and  his 
lips  moved  slightly.  The  bride  no  longer  heard 
what  the  minister  said,  neither  did  she  hear  the 
congratulations  of  the  relatives  and  friends  who 
surrounded  them  after  the  service  was  over. 
She  passed  out  of  the  church  by  the  side  of  her 
spouse  like  one  who  walks  in  a  dream. 

The   wedding    procession   started    toward  the 


THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE,  59 

bride's  house,  which  was  decorated  with  gar- 
lands of  leaves,  and  on  the  gable  stood  a  little 
fir-tree  trimmed  with  floating  ribbons.  The 
musicians  took  a  good  draught  to  strengthen 
themselves  for  their  approaching  duties,  and 
soon  the  merry  sound  of  violins  and  flutes 
broke  through  the  Sunday  stillness. 

In  the  meantime  there  was  one  who  was 
hastening  with  swift  steps  towards  the  forest. 
In  his  heart  he  carried  bitter  pain ;  in  his 
pocket,  a  fastened  lock.  He  turned  his  steps 
to  the  forest  lake.  There  he  sat  on  the  shore 
the  whole  day  long,  holding  the  lock  hesitatingly 
in  his  hand.  The  little  gray  water-wagtails 
tripped  along  on  the  sand  at  his  feet,  and 
looked  up  wonderingly  at  the  pale  youth.  The 
fishes  jumped  up  out  of  the  water,  and  their 
scaly  coats  shone  like  silver  in  the  sunlight. 
The  blue-green  dragon-flies  danced  over  the  waves 
and  dipped  into  the  water.  But  he  paid  no 
attention  to  the  little  creatures.  The  sun  was 
going  down  behind  the  ridges  of  the  blue 
mountains,  the  shadows  were  growing  longer, 
and  still  the  fisherman  sat  brooding  by  the 
pond. 

In  the  distance  there  sounded  something  like 


60  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE. 

violins,  and  the  sound  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
The  youth  listened  and  gave  a  groan.  It  is 
the  smith  leading  home  his  bride,  and  the  wed- 
ding guests  and  the  musicians  are  escorting 
them. 

Heini  shut  his  teeth  together  and  drew  out 
the  padlock.  An  owl  flew  past,  and  as  he  flew 
his  voice  rang  out :  — 

"  Do  it,  do  it,  do  it ! "  the  owl  seemed  to  say, 
and  the  padlock  made  a  wide  arch  as  it  fell 
into  the  pond.  Filled  with  terror,  Heini  fled 
into  the  woods. 

*      * 

The  magic  spell  which  the  old  woman  had 
taught  the  fisherman  had  its  effect.  Instead  of 
the  expected  joy,  bitter  discontent  entei-ed  the 
home  of  the  forest  blacksmith.  The  newly  mar- 
ried couple  avoided  each  other  timidly;  yet  if 
they  were  separated,  they  were  consumed  with  a 
longing  for  each  other:  their  love  was  blighted, 
and  yet  their  love  could  not  die.  The  beautiful 
Gertrude  wasted  away  to  a  shadow,  and  the  sturdy 
young  blacksmith,  too,  began  to  look  weak  and 
sickly.  "  Somebody  has  bewitched  them,"  whis- 
pered the  women  in  the  village ;  and  many  fearful 
things  were  hinted  at  in  the  spinning-room. 


THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE.  61 

The  fisherman,  too,  seemed  to  be  suffering 
from  some  strange  malady.  He  wandered  idly 
through  the  woods  and  over  the  fields,  and 
avoided  human  beings.  If  the  people  from  the 
village  met  him,  they  looked  after  him  compas- 
sionately and  tapped  their  foreheads  significantly : 
they  took  the  unfortunate  fellow  to  be  crazy.  He 
was  not  really  crazy ;  but  bitter  remorse  tormented 
him,  as  he  thought  with  a  shudder  of  the  mischief 
of  which  he  had  been  the  cause. 

Finally  he  sought  old  Bridget's  hut,  and  begged 
her  on  his  knees  to  break  the  charm. 

The  old  woman  giggled.  "You  have  a  soft 
heart,  my  little  son ;  but  I  will  help  you ;  I  will 
break  the  charm.  Procure  the  padlock  for  me. 
Give  it  a  good  blow  with  the  hammer,  saying, 
«In  Gottes  Namen,'  and  it  will  break  the  steel 
padlock,  and  so  render  the  charm  worthless. 
Bring  me  the  padlock,  my  treasure." 

The  youth  struck  his  forehead  and  rushed  out 
of  the  hut;  and  the  old  woman  chuckled  mali- 
ciously behind  his  back. 

"  Procure  the  padlock "  kept  sounding  in  his 
ears,  as  he  again  wandered  restlessly  through  the 
woods ;  "  procure  the  padlock."  And  he  turned  his 
steps  towards  the  lake,  which  he  had  carefully 


62  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE. 

avoided  since  he  had  committed  that  dark 
deed. 

The  evening  breeze  blew  across  the  dark-green 
pond,  and  the  moonlight  quivered  on  the  gently 
stirring  waters.  By  the  shore,  on  a  moss-covered 
stone,  sat  the  form  of  a  woman  clad  in  white 
garments.  She  had  long,  waving,  yellow  hair, 
and  wore  a  crown  of  rushes  and  water-lilies. 

"  Hast  thou  at  last  come  once  more  to  my  lake, 
thou  dear  child  of  man?"  said  the  nixie  to  the 
fisherman  ;  "  long,  long  have  I  been  waiting  for 
thee ;  but  I  knew  that  thou  wouldst  return  to  me 
again.  Come,  descend  to  my  pleasure  garden, 
and  in  my  arms  forget  those  who  torment  thee 
and  have  taken  the  color  out  of  thy  rosy  cheeks ; 
forget  the  earth  and  the  heavens  and  the  sun- 
light." She  bent  towards  the  panting  youth  and 
twined  her  shining  arms  about  his  neck.  "  See," 
she  continued,  "  I  wear  the  pledge  that  thou  gav- 
est  me ; "  and  with  these  words  she  lifted  the  steel 
padlock,  which  hung  from  a  coral  necklace  on  her 
breast.  "  Thou  art  mine." 

The  fisherman  seized  the  padlock  hastily. 
"  Give  it  back,  give  it  back ! "  he  cried ;  but  the 
nixie,  laughing,  shook  her  head  and  wound  her 
arms  more  tightly  about  his  neck.  "  Come ! "  she 
whispered  in  his  ear. 


THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE.  63 

"Give  me  the  padlock!"  cried  the  fisherman, 
beseechingly ;  "  give  me  the  padlock,  and  let  me 
go  away  with  it  for  but  a  little  while.  I  swear 
to  you  that  I  will  come  back  to  the  lake  this 
very  night,  and  I  will  stay  with  you  always. 
Only  give  me  the  padlock ! " 

The  water-sprite  unfastened  the  padlock  from 
her  necklace,  saying :  "  Very  well ;  I  will  give 
the  pledge  back  to  thee,  but  only  in  exchange 
for  another.  Give  me  one  of  the  brown  ringlets 
that  play  about  thy  brow." 

Heini  took  out  his  knife  and  cut  off  a  lock 
of  his  hair,  and  handed  it  to  the  water-sprite. 
She  hid  it  in  her  dress,  and  gave  the  padlock 
back  to  the  fisherman.  "Forget  not  what  thou 
hast  promised  me.  I  hold  the  curl,  and  hold 
thee  by  the  curl.  And  here,  take  my  veil. 
When  thou  returnest  from  thy  errand,  gird  the 
veil  about  thy  loins  and  step  down  fearlessly 
into  the  water.  Down  below  there  I  will  tarry 
for  thee,  my  sweet  beloved ;  down  below  there 
await  thee  more  pleasures  than  there  are  needles 
in  the  fir  forest,  or  drops  of  water  in  the  lake. 
Come  back  quickly." 

Thus  spoke  the  water-nymph,  kissed  the  youth 
on  the  mouth,  and  stepped  down  into  the  dark 


64  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE. 

water.  But  before  she  disappeared,  she  turned 
her  face  once  more  towards  her  beloved,  and 
said  warningly :  "  Forget  not  the  veil,  or  thou 
wilt  be  lost,  and  even  I  could  not  save  thee 
from  death ;  forget  not  the  veil  I  " 

With  these  words  she  disappeared  beneath 
the  water;  but  the  fisherman  hurried  away  with 

the  padlock. 

* 
*  *  * 

By  the  forge  in  the  smithy  sadly  sat  the 
young  blacksmith  staring  at  the  glowing  coals. 
The  door  creaked,  and  in  walked  Heini,  the 
fisherman.  The  smith  greeted  the  belated  guest 
with  a  hostile  look,  and  asked  sharply  what  he 
wanted. 

"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,"  said  the 
fisherman;  "let  me  take  your  heaviest  hammer 
for  a  moment." 

The  other  looked  distrustfully  at  his  rival. 
What  can  the  crazy  fellow  want  with  a  ham- 
mer? Will  he  try  to  get  possession  of  the 
woman  he  loves  by  one  fell  blow?  But  he  is 
enough  of  a  man  to  meet  an  attack ;  so  he 
handed  the  hammer  to  the  fisherman  and  seized 
an  iron  bar  to  ward  off  the  blow  if  it  came. 

The  fisherman   stepped  up  to  the  anvil,  and 


THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE.  65 

the  blacksmith  saw  with  astonishment  that  he 
laid  a  padlock  on  it. 

"  In  Gottes  Namen !  "  cried  Heini,  and  lifted 
the  hammer.  It  fell  with  a  crash,  and  the 
splinters  of  the  steel  padlock  flew  all  about  the 
shop. 

And  then  Heini  took  out  of  his  jacket  a 
delicate  tissue  and  threw  it  on  the  glowing  coals 
in  the  forge.  A  flame  leaped  up  and  in  a 
twinkling  died  down  again.  Then  he  gave  his 
hand  to  the  blacksmith,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  Farewell,  and  be  happy !  "  With  these 
words  he  rushed  out  of  the  door  and  disap- 
peared in  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

The  smith  shook  his  head  as  he  watched  the 
crazy  youth,  and  he  stood  still  wrapt  in  thought, 
when  two  white  arms  were  thrown  about  his 
neck,  and  two  warm  lips  were  lifted  up  to  his. 
Laughing  and  weeping,  his  young  wife  clung 
about  his  neck  and  stammered  words  of  love; 
and  he  lifted  her  with  his  strong  arms  and  bore 
her  into  the  house. 

The  red  glow  died  away  in  the  smithy,  and  a 
shivering  man,  who  had  been  crouching  breath- 
less beneath  the  low  window,  rose  and  walked 
noiselessly  away  into  the  gloomy  forest. 


66  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  BRIDE. 

Good  luck  and  happiness  entered  the  black- 
smith's home,  and  a  troop  of  rosy-cheeked  boys 
and  girls  came  to  bless  it. 

The  fisherman  Heini  disappeared  that  night, 
and  no  earthly  eye  ever  saw  him  again.  But 
the  brook  which  flows  out  of  the  lake  knows  a 
new  and  dreadful  tale  of  a  dead  youth,  who  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  the  lake  in  a  crystal  coffin, 
and  a  beautiful  water-sprite  sits  at  his  head  and 
weeps. 


THE  EASTER  BABBIT. 


rpHERE  was  once  a  wealthy  count  who  had  a 
beautiful  wife  and  a  little  curly-haired,  blue- 
eyed  daughter,  whose  name  was  Trudchen.  Be- 
sides many  other  estates  the  count  possessed  an 
old  hunting-castle  in  the  midst  of  the  forest,  and 
the  forest  abounded  in  stags,  does,  and  other 
game. 

As  goon  as  the  oak-trees  began  to  be  green,  the 
count  came  with  wife  and  child,  servant  and  maid, 
to  the  forest  castle  and  indulged  in  the  jocund 
chase  till  late  in  the  autumn.  Then  came  nu- 
merous guests  from  the  country  round,  and  every 
day  was  full  of  gayety  and  pleasure. 

One  day  there  was  to  be  a  great  hunt.  In  the 
courtyard  stood  the  saddled  horses,  stamping  their 
feet  impatiently,  the  dogs  coupled  together  were 
tugging  at  the  leash  and  could  hardly  be  held, 
and  the  falcons  flapped  their  wings. 

In  the  open  doorway  of  the  entrance-hall,  which 


68  THE  EASTER  RABBIT, 

was  decorated  with  gigantic  antlers  and  boars' 
heads,  stood  Trudchen  by  the  side  of  her  maid, 
delighting  in  the  beautiful  horses  and  the  spotted 
hounds. 

Now  the  count  with  his  huntsmen  stepped  out 
into  the  courtyard,  and  Trudchen's  mother  fol- 
lowed ;  she  wore  a  long  riding-dress  of  green  vel- 
vet, and  waving  ostrich  plumes  in  her  hat.  She 
kissed  Trudchen  and  mounted  her  white  horse. 
The  count  lifted  up  his  little  daughter,  caressed 
her,  and  said:  "  We  are  going  to  ride  in  the  for- 
est, where  the  spotted  fawns  leap  about,  and  if  I 
see  the  Easter  rabbit  I  will  give  him  my  Trud- 
chen's love,  and  tell  him  that  next  year  he  must 
lay  a  nest  full  of  bright-colored  eggs  for  you." 
And  the  child  laughed,  and  kissed  her  father's 
bearded  face  with  her  little  rosy  mouth.  Then  he 
swung  himself  upon  his  raven-black  horse,  and  the 
train  rode  out  at  the  castle  gate.  "Frau  Ursula, 
take  good  care  of  the  little  one !  "  called  the  count 
to  the  maid,  as  he  rode  away,  and  he  waved  his 
hand  once  more.  Then  he  passed  out  of  sight. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  Trudchen  was 
playing  in  the  garden.  Frau  Ursula  had  twice  in 
succession  told  her  the  story  of  the  ancient  Easter 
hare  and  her  seven  little  ones,  and  now  the  good 


THE  EASTER  RABBIT.  69 

woman  was  quietly  sleeping  on  the  stone  bench 
under  the  linden,  where  the  bees  were  humming 
about. 

The  little  girl  had  caught  a  lady-bug  and  began 
to  count  the  dots  on  her  wings ;  but  before  she  had 
finished,  the  lady-bug  flew  away.  Trudchen  ran 
after  her  until  she  lost  sight  of  her.  Then  she  saw 
a  brown  butterfly  with  great  eyes  in  its  wings  rest- 
ing on  a  bluebell.  Trudchen  was  just  going  to 
seize  it  cautiously,  when  all  of  a  sudden  it  was 
gone,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  garden  wall. 

Of  course  Trudchen  could  not  follow  him  over 
there ;  but  what  was  the  gate  in  the  wall  for  ? 
The  little  girl  stood  on  tip-toe  and  pressed  down 
the  latch,  and  then  she  was  in  the  oak  forest. 

"  So  here  is  where  the  Easter  hare  dwells  with 
her  seven  little  ones,"  thought  Trudchen.  She 
hunted  all  about,  but  the  little  hares  must  live 
deeper  in  the  woods.  So  the  little  girl  ran  on 
as  chance  led  her. 

She  had  already  gone  quite  a  little  distance, 
and  was  thinking  whether  it  would  not  be  bet- 
ter to  turn  round,  when  a  black  and  white  spotted 
magpie  flew  along  and  stood  in  her  way. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  shining  chain  around 
your  neck?"  said  the  magpie,  and  looked  spite- 


70  THE  EASTER  RABBIT. 

fully  at  Trudchen,  with  his  head  on  one  side. 
"  Give  the  chain  to  me,  or  I  will  peck  you  with 
my  bill." 

The  poor  child  was  frightened,  and  with  trem- 
bling hands  she  unfastened  the  gold  chain,  took 
it  off  her  neck,  and  threw  it  to  the  magpie.  He 
seized  the  ornament  with  his  bill  and  flew  away 
with  it. 

Now  the  little  girl  was  tired  of  the  woods. 
"  Oh  dear,  my  little  necklace ! "  she  sobbed ;  "  how 
they  will  scold  me  at  home  if  I  go  back  without 
my  chain."  Trudchen  turned  round  and  ran,  as 
she  thought,  back  the  same  way  that  she  had 
come;  but  she  only  got  deeper  into  the  forest. 

"  To-whoo !  to-whoo ! "  sounded  out  of  an  old 
hollow  tree ;  and  when  Trudchen  looked  up  in 
affright,  she  saw  an  owl  glaring  at  her  with  great, 
fiery  eyes,  and  cracking  his  crooked  bill.  "To- 
whoo  ! "  said  the  owl,  "  where  did  you  get  that 
beautiful  veil  on  your  head?  Give  the  veil  to 
me,  or  I  will  scratch  you  with  my  claws." 

Trudchen  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf.  She 
threw  down  the  veil  and  ran  as  fast  as  she  could. 
But  the  owl  took  the  veil  and  put  it  over  his 
face. 

Again  the  child  wandered  aimlessly  about  the 


THE  EASTER  RABBIT.  71 

forest.  Twisted  roots  like  brown  snakes  crossed 
her  path,  and  the  briers  tore  Trudchen's  dress 
with  their  thorny  claws.  There  was  a  rustling 
in  the  top  of  a  treet  and  a  red  squirrel  skipped 
down  on  the  trunk. 

"  That  will  do  me  no  harm,"  thought  the  little 
one ;  but  there  she  was  mistaken ;  the  squirrel 
was  not  one  whit  better  than  the  magpie  or  the 
owl. 

"  Ah  I  what  a  beautiful  little  hood  you  have," 
it  said ;  "  it  would  make  a  soft,  warm  nest  for 
my  young  ones.  Give  the  hood  to  me,  or  I  will 
bite  you  with  my  sharp  teeth." 

Then  the  little  girl  gave  away  her  hood,  and 
continued  her  wandering,  weeping  bitterly.  Her 
feet  could  hardly  carry  her  another  step,  but  her 
distress  impelled  her  on. 

Now  the  woods  grew  light,  and  Trudchen  came 
to  a  sunny  meadow.  Bluebells  and  red  pinks 
grew  in  the  grass,  and  gay  butterflies  danced  in 
the  air.  But  Trudchen  never  thought  of  catch- 
ing the  butterflies,  or  gathering  the  flowers.  She 
sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  wept  and  sobbed 
enough  to  melt  the  heart  of  a  stone. 

Then  there  came  out  of  the  woods  an  old  man 
with  a  long  gray  beard.  He  wore  on  his  head 


72  THE  EASTER  RABBIT. 

a  broad-brimmed  hat  with  a  wide  band,  and  he 
carried  a  white  staff  in  his  hand.  Behind  him 
flew  two  ravens. 

There  was  a  rushing  sound  in  the  tops  of  the 
oaks,  and  trees,  bushes,  and  flowers  all  bowed 
down. 

The  man  came  straight  to  Trudchen,  stood 
still  in  front  of  her,  and  asked  in  a  gentle  voice, 
"Why  are  you  weeping,  my  child?" 

Trudchen  felt  confidence  in  the  old  man,  and 
told  him  who  she  was,  and  what  the  wicked 
creatures  had  done  to  her. 

"Never  mind,  Trudchen,"  said  the  old  man, 
kindly.  "I  will  send  you  home."  He  beckoned 
to  the  ravens.  They  flew  on  his  shoulder,  and 
listened  attentively  to  the  words  which  the  old 
man  spoke  to  them.  Then  they  spread  their 
wings  and  flew  away  as  swift  as  arrows. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  came  back  again ; 
but  they  brought  something  with  them.  It  was 
a  stork. 

When  the  stork  saw  the  old  man  with  the 
broad  hat,  he  bowed  so  low  that  the  end  of  his 
red  bill  touched  the  ground,  and  then  he  stood 
meekly  like  a  slave,  awaiting  his  master's  com- 
mand. 


THE  EASTER  RABBIT.  73 

And  the  old  man  said:  "Beloved  and  trusted 
Master  Adebar,  you  see  here  a  lost  child.  Do 
you  know  where  her  home  is?" 

The  stork  looked  closely  at  the  child,  then 
he  clapped  his  bill  together  with  joy,  and  said  : 
"Yes,  to  be  sure,  Herr  Wode,  I  know  the  child, 
for  I  brought  her  myself  to  the  count's  castle 
four  years  ago." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  man ;  "  then  carry  her 
there  once  more." 

The  stork  moved  his  neck  thoughtfully  to 
and  fro.  "  That  would  be  a  hard  piece  of 
work,"  he  replied. 

"It  must  be,"  said  the  old  man.  "Have  you 
not  often  carried  twins  and  even  triplets  in  your 
bill?  Quickly  to  work,  or  we  are  friends  no 
more." 

"  Certainly ;  if  it  is  your  command,  I  must 
obey,"  replied  the  stork,  submissively,  and  seized 
the  child  around  the  waist  with  his  bill. 

"  But  my  little  chain,  my  veil,  and  my  hood," 
bewailed  Trudchen. 

"My  ravens  shall  take  them  away  from  the 
wicked  creatures  and  bring  them  back  to  you," 
said  the  old  man,  comfortingly.  "Master  Stork, 
fulfil  your  task  faithfully." 


74  THE  EASTER  RABBIT. 

The  man  nodded  kindly  to  Trudchen,  and  in 
a  moment  she  felt  herself  lifted  up,  and  the 
stork  bore  her  through  the  air. 

Oh,  they  went  like  the  wind  I  Trudchen 
looked  down  and  saw  the  forest  far  below  her 
like  a  bed  of  curly  parsley.  Then  sight  and 
hearing  left  her. 

When  Trudchen  came  back  to  consciousness, 
and  opened  her  eyes,  she  was  lying  in  the  grass 
in  the  castle  garden,  and  Frau  Ursula  was 
standing  before  her,  chiding  her :  — 

"  Child,  child,  lying  here  asleep  in  the  damp 
grass!  If  you  catch  cold,  it  will  be  again,  'Old 
Ursula  doesn't  take  any  care  at  all  of  the 
child'  —  and  I  haven't  taken  my  eyes  off  from 
you.  And  there  is  your  beautiful  gold  neck- 
lace lying  in  the  middle  of  the  path,  and  there 
lies  your  hood,  and  your  veil  is  hanging  by  a 
thorn  on  the  rose-bush.  Get  up  and  come  into 
the  house  with  me ;  it  is  growing  cold  in  the 
garden.  Oh,  dear  Heaven,  what  anxiety  you 
put  upon  me !  " 

And  Trudchen  got  up  and  let  her  scold  on, 
without  opening  her  mouth. 

How  fortunate  that  Frau  Ursula  did  not 
know  all  that  had  taken  place !  That  would 
have  made  a  fine  commotion. 


THE  GOLDEN  TREE. 


rpHE  room  in  which  our  story  begins  was 
very  plain  and  bare.  Against  the  white- 
washed walls,  whose  only  adornment  was  a  pair 
of  landscapes  yellow  with  age,  stood  two  small 
beds,  a  bookcase,  and  a  clothes-press,  on  the  top 
of  which  rested  a  terrestrial  globe.  A  long 
table,  covered  with  ink-stains,  occupied  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  and  two  boys  about  twelve 
years  of  age  were  sitting  by  it  on  hard  wooden 
stools. 

The  light-haired  boy  was  puzzling  over  a 
difficult  passage  in  Cornelius  Nepos,  and  he 
sighed  as  he  turned  the  leaves  of  the  heavy 
lexicon ;  the  boy  with  brown  hair  was  trying 
to  extract  the  cubic  root  of  a  number  with 
nine  figures.  The  Latin  student  was  named 
Hans,  the  mathematician  Heinz. 

From  time  to  time  the  boys  raised  their 
heads  and  looked  longingly  towards  the  open 


76  THE   GOLDEN   TREE. 

window,  where  the  flies  buzzed  in  and  out.  In 
the  garden,  the  golden  sunshine  lay  on  the 
trees  and  bushes,  and  the  branch  of  a  blossom- 
ing elder-bush  looked  scornfully  into  the  two 
young  fellows'  study.  The  poor  youths  had  still 
an  hour  to  sit  and  bear  the  heat  before  they 
could  go  out-doors,  and  the  minutes  crept  along 
like  the  snails  on  the  gooseberry-bushes  in  the 
garden.  Any  escape  fi'om  work  before  the  time 
was  not  to  be  thought  of,  for  in  the  next  room, 
at  his  desk,  sat  Dr.  Schlagen,  who  had  charge 
of  the  boys'  education  and  morals,  and  the  door 
stood  open,  so  that  the  Doctor  could  at  any  time 
assure  himself  of  the  presence  of  his  charges, 
and  overlook  whatever  they  were  doing. 

"  Hannibal  could  not  have  done  anything  more 
prudent  than  to  cross  the  Alps,"  snarled  Hans; 
and  "  nine  times  eighty-one  are  seven  hundred  and 
twenty-nine,"  muttered  Heinz,  in  a  dull  voice. 
Then  both  looked  up  from  their  work,  looked  at 
one  another  and  yawned. 

Suddenly  they  heard  a  loud  buzzing.  A  rose- 
bug  which  must  have  alighted  on  the  elderberry- 
bush,  had  strayed  into  the  room.  Three  times  it 
flew  around  the  boys'  heads,  in  a  circle,  and  then  it 
fell  plump  into  the  inkstand. 


THE   GOLDEN   TREE.  77 

"  It  really  served  him  right,"  said  Heinz;  "  why 
didn't  he  stay  where  he  was  well  off  ?  But  to  be 
drowned  in  ink  —  that  is  top  wretched  a  death  ! 
Wait  a  minute,  my  friend,  I  will  save  you." 

He  was  going  to  help  the  struggling  bug  with 
his  penholder,  but  Hans  accomplished  the  rescue 
more  quickly  with  his  finger.  And  then  the  boys 
dried  the  poor  little  rascal  gently  with  the  blotting- 
paper,  and  watched  him  make  his  toilet  with  his 
forelegs. 

"He  has  a  red  spot  on  his  breast,  and  black 
horns,"  said  Hans,  as  he  wiped  his  ink-stained  fin- 
gers on  his  hair.  "  It  is  the  king  of  the  rose-bugs. 
He  dwells  in  a  castle  built  of  jasmine  flowers  and 
shingled  with  rose-leaves.  Crickets  and  locusts 
are  his  musicians,  and  the  glowworms  are  his 
torch -bearers." 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  "  said  Heinz. 

"  And  whoever  meets  the  king  of  the  rose- 
bugs,"  continued  Hans,  "is  a  lucky  fellow.  Take 
heed,  Heinz,  something  is  going  to  happen  —  an 
adventure  or  something  extraordinary,  and  be- 
sides, to-day  is  May-day,  so  there  is  a  special 
reason  for  expecting  wonders.  See  how  he  beck- 
ons to  us  with  his  feelers,  and  lifts  his  wings. 
Now  he  is  going  to  be  changed  before  us  into  an 


78  THE   GOLDEN   TREE. 

elf  wearing  a  king's  mantle  and  a  golden  helmet 
on  his  head." 

"He  is  going  to  fly  away,"  said  Heinz,  laugh- 
ing. "Buzz  —  there  he  goes." 

The  boys  went  to  the  window  and  looked  after 
the  bug.  The  bright  little  jewel  made  a  wide  cir- 
cle as  he  flew  through  the  air  and  disappeared  the 
other  side  of  the  garden  wall.  Just  at  this  mo- 
ment a  hemming  was  heard  in  the  next  room,  and 
the  two  scholars  hurried  back  to  their  books. 

"  There  is  our  wonder,"  whispered  Hans  to  his 
companion,  and  pointed  to  the  inkstand. 

Out  of  the  inkstand  rose  a  green  shoot  that 
grew  while  they  were  looking  at  it,  and  mounted 
to  the  ceiling. 

"  We  are  dreaming,"  said  Heinz,  rubbing  his 
eyes. 

"  No ;  it  is  a  fairy  tale,"  said  Hans,  exultingly ; 
"  a  living  fairy  tale,  and  we  are  in  it." 

And  the  shoot  grew  larger  and  put  forth 
branches  and  twigs  with  leaves  and  blossoms. 
The  top  of  the  room  disappeared,  the  walls  van- 
ished, and  the  astonished  boys  found  themselves 
in  the  midst  of  a  dim  wood. 

"Come  along!"  cried  Hans,  pulling  the  reluc- 
tant Heinz  away  with  him.  "Now  comes  the 
adventure." 


THE    GOLDEN  TREE.  79 

The  blossoming  shrubs  separated  of  themselves 
and  made  a  path  for  the  boys.  The  broken  sun- 
light looked  through  the  latticed  roof  of  the  trees 
and  painted  a  thousand  golden  spots  on  the  moss, 
and  out  of  the  moss  grew  star-flowers  of  glowing 
colors,  and  green  curling  tendrils  twined  about 
their  mossy  stems.  Above  in  the  branches  flut- 
tered singing  birds  with  bright  feathers,  and  stags, 
roebucks,  and  other  game  leaped  gayly  about 
among  the  bushes. 

Now  the  woods  grew  light,  and  something  like 
firelight  shone  between  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  and 
Hans  whispered  to  his  companion,  "  Now  it  is 
coming ! " 

They  came  to  a  meadow  in  the  wood,  in  the 
midst  of  which  stood  a  single  tree.  But  it  was  no 
ordinary  tree;  it  was  the  magic  tree  of  which 
Hans  had  so  often  heard,  —  the  tree  with  golden 
leaves.  The  boys  stood  still  in  amazement. 

Out  from  behind  the  trunk  stepped  a  dwarf  no 
larger  than  a  child  of  three  years,  but  not  with  the 
large  head  and  flat  feet  that  dwarfs  usually  have, 
but  slender  and  graceful.  He  wore  a  green  cloak 
and  a  golden  helmet,  and  the  two  boys  knew  who 
he  was. 

The  dwarf  advanced  two  steps  and  made  a  low 


80  THE    GOLDEN  TREE. 

bow.  "  The  enchanted  princess  is  waiting  for  her 
deliverer,"  he  said ;  ' '  which  of  you  will  undertake 
the  hazardous  task  ?  " 

"  I,"  said  Hans,  in  a  joyful  voice.  And  the 
dwarf  immediately  led  out  a  little  milk-white 
steed,  champing  a  golden  bit. 

"Don't  do  it,  Hans!  "said  Heinz,  in  distress; 
but  Hans  was  already  seated  in  the  saddle.  The 
magic  horse  rose,  neighing,  into  the  air,  then  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  ran  with  flying  mane  into 
the  woods.  A  bright  rose-bug  flew  along  ahead 
as  guide.  Once  only  Hans  turned  his  head  and 
looked  at  his  comrade  standing  beneath  the  golden 
tree ;  then  both  tree  and  friend  were  lost  from 
sight. 

That  was  a  merry  ride.  Hans  sat  as  safe  and 
sure  in  the  saddle  as  though  he  had  been  on  his 
accustomed  wooden  stool  instead  of  the  horse's 
back.  When  he  thought  how  only  an  hour  ago 
he  had  been  groaning  over  Cornelius  Nepos  and 
trembling  before  Doctor  Schlagen,  he  had  to  laugh. 
The  little  schoolboy  in  a  short  jacket  had  become 
a  stately  huntsman  with  waistcoat  and  mantle, 
sword  and  golden  spear.  So  away  he  flew  through 
the  magic  forest. 

Now  his  little  steed  neighed  gladly.    The  woods 


THE   GOLDEN  TREE.  81 

grew  light.  A  leap  or  two  more,  and  horse  and 
rider  stopped  before  a  shining  castle.  Gay  ban- 
ners waved  from  the  towers,  horns  and  trumpets 
were  sounding,  and  on  the  balcony  stood  the  prin- 
cess waving  a  white  handkerchief.  She  looked 
exactly  like  the  neighbor's  little  Helen,  with  whom 
Hans  the  Knight  used  to  play  when  he  was  a  little 
boy,  and  still  at  school,  only  she  was  larger  and  a 
thousand  times  more  beautiful. 

Hans  sprang  from  the  saddle,  and  with  clink- 
ing spurs  hastened  up  the  marble  steps.  In  the 
open  doorway  stood  a  man,  probably  the  mar- 
shal of  the  princess'  household,  who  had  a  very 
familiar  look  to  our  Hans. 

And  the  house-marshal  reached  out  his  hand, 
seized  Hans  the  Knight  by  the  ear,  and  cried :  — 

"  The  scoundrel  has  gone  to  sleep.  Just  wait 
till  I  — "  That  broke  the  spell.  Hans  was  sit- 
ting once  more  by  the  ink-stained  table;  before 
him  lay  Cornelius  Nepos  and  the  Latin  lexicon ; 
opposite  him  sat  Heinz,  writing  with  a  squeak- 
ing pen ;  and  near  him  stood  Doctor  Schlagen, 
looking  sternly  through  his  spectacles  at  the 
dreamer. 

When  the  hour  at  last  struck  for  their  release, 
and  the  two  boys  were  eating  their  evening  meal 


82  THE    GOLDEN  TREE. 

out  in  the  garden  under  the  elder-tree,  Hans  told 
his  friend  what  he  had  dreamed. 

"That  is  strange,"  said  Heinz,  when  Hans 
had  finished ;  "  very  strange.  For  I  had  the 
same  dream  myself,  only  the  ending  was  different ; 
no  magic  castle  came  into  my  dream  — 

"  Tell  me  about  it !  "   urged  Hans. 

"As  far  as  the  golden  tree,  my  dream  was 
exactly  like  yours.  You  mounted  the  white 
horse  and  rode  away  to  release  the  princess. 
But  I  —  " 

"  Well  ?  "   said  Hans,  impatiently. 

"I  remained  behind,  shook  the  tree,  and  filled 
all  my  pockets  with  the  golden  leaves.  Then  the 
stupid  old  doctor  woke  me  up,  and  then  the 
splendid  dream  was  over." 

"  Heinz,"  said  Hans,  solemnly,  seizing  his  friend 
by  the  hand,  "  if  two  people  have  the  very  same 
dream,  then  it  will  surely  come  true.  The  dream 
was  a  prophecy.  Remember  what  I  say." 

Then  the  boys  ate  the  rest  of  their  supper  and 
went  to  play  ball. 

Was  the  dream  of  the  boys  ever  fulfilled  ?  Yes. 
Hans  became  a  poet,  and  drove  his  steed  through 
the  green  forest  of  fairyland.  But  Heinz,  who 
shook  the  golden  tree  in  the  dream,  became  his 
publisher. 


THE  MAGIC  BOW. 


/"VNTCE  there  was  a  little  boy  whose  name  was 
^"^  Frieder,  and  who  had  neither  father  nor 
mother.  He  was  as  handsome  as  a  picture,  and 
when  he  was  playing  in  front  of  the  house  in 
the  street,  people  would  stop  and  ask,  "  Whose 
little  one  is  that?"  Then  the  surly  old  woman 
who  brought  him  up  on  thin  broth  and  plentiful 
scoldings  would  answer,  "He  is  nobody's  child; 
and  it  would  be  the  best  thing  for  him  if  the 
dear  Lord  would  take  him  to  himself  in  his  heav- 
enly kingdom."  But  Frieder  had  no  longing 
for  the  heavenly  kingdom ;  it  pleased  him  very 
well  down  below  here,  and  he  grew  up  like  the 
red-headed  thistles  behind  his  foster-mother's 
house.  Playfellows  he  had  none.  When  the 
other  boys  in  the  village  built  mills  and  sailed 
their  little  canoes  in  the  brook,  or  romped  in  the 
hay,  Frieder  would  sit  on  the  hillside  and  whistle 
the  songs  of  the  birds. 


84  THE  MAGIC  BOW. 

He  was  busying  himself  in  this  way  one  day, 
when  old  Klaus,  who  was  a  bird-catcher  by  pro- 
fession, met  him.  He  took  a  fancy  to  the  pretty 
lad,  and  struck  a  friendship  with  him.  From 
that  time  the  two  were  often  seen  sitting  sociably 
together  in  front  of  the  bird-catcher's  cottage 
like  two  old  soldiers.  Klaus  not  only  could  tell 
strange  stories  of  the  forest,  but  he  knew  how  to 
play  the  fiddle,  and  instructed  Frieder  in  the  art, 
after  giving  him  an  old  patched-up  violin  as  a 
birthday  present.  The  pupil  did  his  teacher 
credit,  for  before  the  end  of  the  month  he  could 
play  several  famous  old  melodies.  The  old  bird- 
catcher  was  deeply  impressed  by  this,  and  said 
prophetically,  "  Frieder,  believe  me  ;  if  God  spares 
my  life,  I  shall  sometime  see  you  the  first  violin- 
ist in  the  church." 

When  Frieder  was  fifteen  years  old,  the  neigh- 
bors came  together  and  took  counsel  about  him. 
It  was  time,  they  said,  that  he  should  learn  some- 
thing practical  to  help  him  through  the  world ; 
and  when  they  asked  him  what  he  would  like  to 
become,  he  answered,  "  A  musician."  Then  the 
people  threw  up  their  hands  in  holy  horror.  But 
a  stout  man  stepped  out  of  the  crowd,  grasped 
the  lad's  hand,  and  said  in  a  dignified  manner, 


THE  MAGIC  BOW.  85 

"I  will  see  if  I  can  make  something  practical 
out  of  him."  And  all  those  who  stood  about  in 
the  circle  thought  Frieder  very  fortunate  to  have 
found  such  a  master. 

He  was  a  person  of  no  little  consequence. 
He  cut  the  peasants'  hair  and  beards,  cupped 
them,  and  pulled  out  their  poor  teeth,  and  often 
their  sound  ones  too.  He  was  the  barber  of  the 
place,  and  the  people  called  him  nothing  less 
than  "  HeiT  Doktor." 

On  the  same  day  Frieder  went  to  the  house 
of  him  who  was  now  his  employer,  and  in  the 
evening  began  to  make  himself  useful  by  bring- 
ing his  master's  beer  from  the  ale-house.  By 
degrees  he  learned  to  make  the  lather,  to  hone 
the  razors,  and  to  do  everything  else  belonging 
to  the  art.  His  master  was  pleased  with  him ; 
but  the  violin-playing  in  which  Frieder  had  in- 
dulged so  eagerly  when  he  had  nothing  else  to  do, 
was  objectionable  to  him,  for,  in  the  barber's 
opinion,  it  belonged  to  the  unprofitable  arts. 

Two  long  years  passed  by.  Then  came  the 
day  when  Frieder  was  to  put  his  skill  to  the  test. 
If  he  succeeded  in  satisfying  his  master,  then  he 
could  go  out  into  the  world  as  a  travelling  jour- 
neyman and  seek  his  fortune.  He  was  to  prove 


86  THE  MAGIC  BOW. 

his  skill  by  shaving  his  master's  beard,  and  that 
was  no  joke. 

The  important  day  had  come.  The  barber 
seated  himself  in  his  chair,  with  the  white  towel 
around  his  neck,  and  leaned  his  head  back. 
Frieder  soaped  his  double  chin,  stropped  the 
razor,  and  fell  to  work. 

Suddenly  the  sounds  of  violins  and  flutes  were 
heard  in  front  of  the  house :  a  bear-leader  had 
come  along.  As  soon  as  the  young  barber  heard 
the  music  his  hand  slipped,  and  on  the  master's 
cheek  appeared  a  bloody  cut,  reaching  from  his 
ear  to  his  nose. 

Alas  for  poor  Frieder !  The  chair  in  which 
the  barber  was  sitting  fell  backwards  on  the 
floor.  The  bleeding  man  jumped  up  in  a  rage 
and  gave  his  apprentice  a  rousing  box  on  the 
ear.  Then  he  tore  open  the  door,  pointed  into 
the  blue  air,  and  screamed,  "  Go  to  the  cuckoo ! " 

Then  Frieder  packed  up  his  things,  took  his 
violin  under  his  arm,  and  went  to  the  cuckoo. 
The  cuckoo  dwelt  in  the  woods,  in  an  oak-tree, 
and  happened  to  be  at  home  when  Frieder  called 
on  him.  He  heard  the  fellow's  account  patiently 
to  the  end,  but  then  he  flapped  his  wings,  and 
said :  — 


THE  MAGIC  BOW.  87 

"Young  friend,  if  I  should  help  all  who  are 
sent  to  me,  I  should  have  a  great  deal  to  do. 
The  times  are  hard,  and  I  must  be  glad  that  I 
have  provided  for  my  own  children  tolerably 
well.  The  oldest  I  have  boarded  out  in  a  water- 
wagtail's  family ;  the  second  one,  neighbor  red-tail 
has  taken  into  his  house ;  the  third  child,  a  little 
maid,  is  nursed  by  an  old  beam-bird;  and  the 
two  smallest  ones  are  taken  care  of  by  a  wren. 
I  have  to  bestir  myself  from  morning  till  night 
in  order  to  get  enough  to  live  on  decently.  For 
fourteen  days  I  have  lived  on  hairy  caterpillars, 
and  such  food  would  not  suit  your  digestion. 
No;  I  cannot  help  you,  however  sorry  I  may  be 
for  you." 

Then  Frieder  hung  his  head  sorrowfully,  said 
farewell  to  the  cuckoo,  and  went  away.  But 
he  had  not  gone  far  when  the  cuckoo  called 
after  him :  "  Wait,  Frieder !  I  have  a  good  idea. 
Perhaps  I  can  help  you  after  all.  Come  with 
me."  He  spoke  these  words,  stretched  his 
wings,  and  flew  along  in  front  of  Frieder  to 
show  him  the  way. 

Frieder  had  difficulty  in  following  his  guide, 
for  the  underbrush  was  thick  in  the  woods,  and 
the  briers  were  very  abundant.  At  last  it  grew 


88  THE  MAGIC  BOW. 

light  between  the  trees,  and  there  was  a  glimpse 
of  water. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  said  the  cuckoo,  as  he 
lighted  on  an  alder.  Before  the  youth  lay  a 
dark-green  pond,  fed  by  a  foaming  waterfall. 
Reeds  and  iris  grew  on  the  shore,  and  white 
water-lilies  with  broad  leaves  floated  on  the  sur- 
face. 

"  Now  pay  attention,"  said  the  wise  bird. 
"When  the  sun  goes  down  and  makes  the  spray 
of  the  waterfall  gleam  in  seven  colors,  then 
Neck  comes  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  pond 
where  he  has  a  crystal  castle,  and  sits  down 
on  the  shore.  Then  have  no  fear,  but  speak 
to  him.  You  will  find  out  the  rest." 

Then  Frieder  thanked  the  cuckoo,  who  flew 
away  swiftly  into  the  woods. 

When  the  seven  colors  of  the  rainbow  ap- 
peared in  the  waterfall,  sure  enough  Xeck  came 
up  out  of  the  water.  He  had  on  a  little  red 
coat  and  a  white  collar.  His  hair  was  green, 
and  hung  down  like  a  tangled  mane  over  his 
shoulders.  He  sat  down  on  a  stone,  which  rose 
above  the  mirror-like  pond,  let  his  feet  hang  in 
the  water,  and  began  to  comb  his  hair  with  his 
ten  fingers.  This  was  a  difficult  task,  for  the 


THE  MAGIC  BOW.  89 

snarls  were  full  of  eel-grass,  duckweed,  and  little 
snail-shells,  and  as  Neck  tried  to  smooth  out  his 
hair  he  made  up  painful  faces. 

"  This  is  the  right  time  to  speak  to  the 
water-sprite,"  thought  Frieder.  He  took  cour- 
age, stepped  out  from  the  alder-bushes,  which 
had  kept  him  from  sight,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
said,  "  Good  evening,  Herr  Neck !  " 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Neck  plumped  into 
the  water  like  a  startled  frog,  and  disap- 
peared. But  before  long  he  thrust  his  head 
out  again,  and  said  in  an  unfriendly  voice, 
"What  do  you  want?" 

"With  your  permission,  Herr  Neck,"  began 
Frieder,  "I  am  an  experienced  barber,  and  you 
would  confer  a  great  honor  upon  me  if  you 
would  allow  me  to  comb  your  hair." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Neck,  delighted,  and  he  rose 
out  of  the  water.  "You  have  come  at  just  the 
right  time.  What  a  trouble  and  torment  my 
hair  has  been  to  me  since  the  Loreley,  my 
cousin,  was  mean  enough  to  leave  me !  \Vhat 
have  I  not  done  for  that  thankless  creature ! 
And  one  morning  she  went  away,  and  my 
golden  comb  is  gone,  too,  and  now  she  sits,  as 
I  hear,  on  a  rock  in  the  Rhine,  and  is  having 


90  THE  MAGIC  BOW. 

some  trouble  with  a  skipper  in  a  little  skiff. 
The  golden  comb  will  soon  be  sung  away." 

With  these  words,  Neck  sat  down  on  a  stone. 
Frieder  took  out  his  shaving-case,  tied  a  white 
apron  around  the  water-sprite's  neck,  and 
combed  and  oiled  his  hair,  till  it  was  as 
smooth  as  silk ;  then  he  parted  his  hair  evenly 
from  his  brow  to  the  nape  of  his  neck,  took  off 
the  apron,  and  made  a  bow,  as  his  master  had 
taught  him.  Neck  stood  up  and  looked  at  him- 
self with  satisfaction  in  the  mirror  of  the  pond. 
"What  do  I  owe  you?"  he  asked. 

Frieder  had  the  customary  answer,  "  Whatever 
you  please,"  on  his  lips,  but  it  occurred  to  him 
just  in  time  that  he  must  seize  the  opportunity 
and  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot.  So  he 
cleared  his  throat  and  told  Neck  his  history. 

"So  you  would  like  to  be  a  musician?" 
asked  Neck,  when  Frieder  had  finished  speak- 
ing. "Just  take  your  fiddle  in  your  hand  and 
let  me  hear  something  of  your  skill." 

Then  the  youth  took  his  violin,  tuned  the 
strings,  and  played  his  best  piece,  "  When  the 
Grandfather  married  the  Grandmothei',"  and 
when  he  had  ended  with  a  graceful  flourish,  he 
looked  expectantly  at  Neck. 


THE  MAGIC  BOW,  91 

Neck  grinned,  and  said,  "  Now  hear  me." 
Then  he  put  his  hand  down  into  the  reeds  and 
brought  out  a  violin  and  bow,  straightened  him- 
self up,  and  began  to  play. 

Poor  Frieder  had  never  heard  anything  like 
it  before.  At  first  it  sounded  like  the  evening 
bi'eeze  playing  among  the  rushes,  then  it  sounded 
like  the  roar  of  a  waterfall,  and  at  last,  like 

* 

gently  flowing  water.  The  birds  in  the  trees 
were  silent,  the  bees  stopped  humming,  and  the 
fishes  raised  their  heads  out  of  the  pond  to 
listen  to  the  sweet  sounds.  But  great  tears 
shone  in  the  young  fellow's  eyes. 

"Herr  Neck,"  he  said,  stretching  out  his 
hands,  as  the  water-sprite  laid  down  his  bow, 
"Herr  Neck,  teach  me  how  to  play!" 

"That  would  not  do,"  answered  Neck.  "It 
would  not  do  on  account  of  my  growing  daugh- 
ters, the  nixies.  Besides,  it  isn't  necessary.  If 
you  will  give  me  your  comb,  you  shall  have  a 
violin  that  hasn't  its  equal." 

"  I  will  give  you  my  whole  shaving-case,  if 
you  want  it,"  cried  Frieder,  and  handed  it  to 
the  water-sprite. 

Neck  snatched  the  proffered  case  quickly,  and 
disappeared  beneath  the  water. 


92  THE  MAGIC  BOW. 

"  Hold  on,  hold  on ! "  the  youth  called  after 
him,  but  his  call  was  in  vain.  He  waited  an 
hour;  he  waited  two;  but  nothing  more  was 
heard  of  Neck. 

Poor  Frieder  sighed  deeply,  for  it  was  plain 
to  him  that  the  false  water-sprite  had  deceived 
him,  and  with  a  heavy  heart  he  turned  to  go 
he  knew  not  where.  Then  he  saw  lying  at  his 
feet,  on  the  edge  of  the  pond,  Neck's  fiddlestick. 
He  bent  down,  and  as  he  took  it  in  his  hand, 
he  felt  a  twitching  from  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
to  his  shoulder-blade,  and  it  urged  him  to  try 
the  bow. 

He  was  going  to  play  "  What  shall  T,  poor 
fellow,  do?"  but  it  seemed  as  if  an  unseen  power 
guided  his  hand ;  sweet,  silvery  tones  burst  from 
his  violin,  such  as  Frieder  had  never  heard  in 
his  life  but  once,  and  that  was  just  before, 
when  Neck  was  playing  to  him.  The  birds 
came  flying  along  and  sat  listening  in  the 
bushes,  the  fishes  leaped  up  out  of  the  water, 
and  stags  and  roebucks  came  out  of  the  forest, 
and  looked  with  wise  eyes  at  the  player.  Frieder 
could  not  tell  how  it  happened.  Whatever 
passed  through  his  soul  and  whatever  he  felt  in 
his  heart,  found  its  way  to  his  hand,  and 


THE  MAGIC  BOW.  93 

through  his  hand  to  his  playing,  and  was  ex- 
pressed in  sweet  tones. 

But  Neck  came  up  out  of  the  pond  and  nod- 
ded approvingly.  Then  he  disappeared  and  was 
never  seen  again. 

Frieder  went  out  of  the  forest  playing,  and 
he  visited  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  and 
played  before  kings  and  emperors.  Yellow  gold 
rained  into  his  hat,  and  he  would  have  become 
exceeding  rich,  if  he  had  not  been  a  true  musi- 
cian. But  true  musicians  never  become  rich. 

He  left  his  shaving-case  behind  him.  There- 
fore, he  let  his  hair  grow  like  strong  Samson  of 
old.  Other  musicians  have  followed  his  example, 
and  from  that  time  to  the  present  day  have 
worn  long,  disorderly  hair. 


THE  BEECH-TKEE. 


rpHERE  stood  in  the  forest  an  ancient  beech- 
tree.  The  top  of  the  tree  had  been  shat- 
tered by  the  lightning,  her  side  was  hollow,  and 
great  mushrooms  grew  out  of  the  bark.  She 
was  the  oldest  of  all  beeches,  and  the  mother  of 
a  numerous  family;  but  she  had  seen  all  her 
children,  as  soon  as  they  had  grown  strong,  fall 
beneath  the  stroke  of  the  axe,  and  she  had  only 
one  daughter  left.  She  was  a  young  beech,  with 
smooth  bark  and  a  heaven-aspiring  crown,  and 
she  was  just  eighty  years  old.  This  is  consid- 
ered the  prime  of  life  among  the  forest  trees. 

Every  spring  the  old  beech  still  put  forth 
leaves  and  green  shoots,  but  she  felt  that  life 
was  on  the  decline  with  her,  for  it  was  only 
with  difficulty  that  she  held  herself  upright. 
And  because  she  felt  that  she  must  die,  her  love 
for  her  beautiful  giant  daughter  was  redoubled. 

Spring    was    drawing    near.      The    glistening 


THE  BEECH-TREE.  95 

white  snow  still  lay  on  the  branches  of  the 
trees,  but  the  warm  sap  began  to  spring  up 
from  the  roots,  and  the  soft  air  blew  and  helped 
to  melt  the  snow.  The  crackling  ice-cakes 
floated  down  the  rivers  and  brooks,  the  willows 
pushed  their  silver  catkins  out  of  their  cases, 
and  the  white  bell-flowers  broke  through  the 
vanishing  carpet  of  snow  that  covered  the  forest 
floor. 

Then  the  old  beech  said  to  hex*  child :  "  To- 
night the  warm  south  wind  will  come  with  a 
rush.  It  will  lay  me  on  the  bed  of  leaves  that 
I  have  been  hoarding  up  all  these  years,  and 
I  shall  return  to  the  mother  earth,  from  whose 
bosom  I  came  forth.  But  before  I  go  home,  I 
will  bequeath  you  a  legacy  that  the  gentle  lord 
of  the  forest  bestowed  upon  me  one  day  a  long 
time  ago,  when  he  was  resting  from  his  blessed 
labors  in  my  shadow.  You  will  be  able  to 
understand  the  words  and  deeds  of  men  and  to 
sympathize  in  their  joys  and  sorrows.  This  is 
the  highest  good  that  can  fall  to  our  lot. 
But  be  prepared  to  see  more  of  pain  than  hap- 
piness." 

Thus  spoke  the  old  beech-tree,  and  gave  her 
daughter  her  blessing. 


96  THE  BEECH-TREE. 

In  the  night  the  south  wind  came  rushing 
from  the  desert.  It  buried  the  ships  in  the  bil- 
lows of  the  sea,  rolled  gigantic  snowballs  down 
from  the  mountains,  and  destroyed  men's  cot- 
tages as  it  passed  by.  It  went  roaring  through 
the  forest  and  broke  down  everything  that  was 
old  and  decayed,  or  whatever  dared  to  resist  its 
power.  It  stretched  the  old  beech  on  the 
ground,  and  shook  her  sturdy  daughter,  but  she 
wisely  bent  and  bowed  her  head,  and  the  mighty 
wind  passed  over.  For  three  days  the  daughter 
wept  tears  of  sparkling  dew  over  her  mother. 
Then  the  sun  came  and  dried  her  tears. 

And  now  on  every  side  began  such  a  budding 
and  sprouting  that  the  beech  had  no  time  to 
mourn.  Her  buds  swelled  and  burst,  and  one 
morning  a  hundred  thousand  little  tender  green 
leaves  trembled  in  the  warm  sunshine.  What  a 
delight  it  was! 

Golden  yellow  primroses  came  up  out  of  the 
ground.  They  did  not  even  take  time  to  push 
aside  the  dry  leaves,  but  pierced  right  through 
them  and  lifted  themselves  up  once  more  into 
the  sunlight.  Purple  peas  joined  the  primroses, 
and  the  fragrant  woodroof  unrolled  its  tender 
querl  of  leaves.  What  exuberance  of  life  1 


THE  BEECH-TREE.  97 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  blooming  life  stood 
the  young  beech  like  a  queen.  A  finch  had  built 
his  nest  in  her  crest  and  the  woodpecker  with  his 
red  cap  came  to  visit  her.  Once  the  cuckoo  came 
too,  and  even  the  distinguished  squirrel,  with  his 
bushy  tail  over  his  head,  found  his  way  there  now 
and  then,  although  the  beech  with  her  bright 
spring  foliage  could  not  serve  him  with  acorns. 
But  she  had  not  yet  seen  a  human  being  this 
spring,  and  they  were  the  guests  she  most  wished 
to  see,  because  she  possessed  the  gift  of  under- 
standing their  sayings  and  doings. 

Human  beings  were  soon  to  come.  One  morn- 
ing a  slender  young  maiden,  with  long  brown 
braids  of  hair,  came  tripping  along  through  the 
forest  and  went  straight  up  to  the  beech-tree.  But 
there  was  not  the  least  probability  that  she  had 
come  on  account  of  the  beech.  She  looked  at  the 
tree  that  lay  mouldering  on  the  ground,  and  said, 
"  This  is  the  place."  Then  she  put  down  her  bas- 
ket, which  was  filled  with  lilies-of-the-valley,  and 
leaned  against  the  beech,  without  even  glancing 
at  the  green  splendor  above.  The  tree  held  her 
breath  to  listen  to  what  the  maiden  might  say, 
but  the  beautiful  girl  kept  an  obstinate  silence. 

Then    from    the    opposite    direction    came    a 


98  THE  BEECH-TREE. 

stately  youth.  lie  wore  a  little  round  hat  with  a 
curling  feather,  like  a  huntsman's.  Cautiously  he 
crept  along,  so  cautiously  that  the  dry  leaves  never 
once  rustled  beneath  his  footsteps.  But  although 
he  stepped  so  gently,  the  maiden's  sharp  ears  per- 
ceived his  coming.  She  turned  her  head  toward 
him,  and  the  beech-tree  thought  to  herself,  "  Now 
she  will  run  away."  But  the  maiden  did  not  run 
away;  she  rather  sprang  toward  the  youth  and 
threw  her  arms  around  his  brown  neck. 

"  My  Hans  I  "  —  "  My  Eva !  "  they  cried  at  the 
same  time.  Then  they  kissed  each  other  to  their 
hearts'  content,  called  each  other  again  by  name, 
and  embraced  each  other  anew,  and  the  beech-tree 
found  it  very  tiresome.  Afterwards  they  sat  down 
under  the  tree  and  talked  of  their  love.  It  was 
the  old,  old  story,  but  it  was  new  to  the  beech,  and 
she  listened  as  a  child  listens  to  a  fairy  tale.  But 
something  still  more  strange  happened  to  sur- 
prise her. 

The  youth  rose  from  the  ground,  took  out  his 
knife,  and  began  to  cut  into  the  bark  on  the  trunk. 
Indeed  it  caused  her  some  pain,  but  the  tree  held 
as  still  as  a  wall. 

"  What  is  it  going  to  be  ?  "  asked  the  maiden. 

"  A  heart,  with  your  name  and  mine,"  replied 
Hans,  and  went  on  cutting. 


THE  BEECH-TREE.  99 

When  the  work  was  done,  they  both  looked  at 
it  with  satisfaction,  and  the  beech  was  as  pleased 
as  one  whom  the  king  has  honored  with  a  golden 
chain.  "  Human  beings  are  capital  people  1 "  she 
thought. 

Then  the  youth  began  to  sing.  The  beech  had 
long  known  the  songs  of  the  finches  and  black- 
birds by  heart ;  now  she  was  going  to  hear  some- 
thing quite  different  from  the  songs  of  the  birds. 

The  song  ran  thus  :  — 

» 

Behind  the  forest  cover 
I  strode  the  wild  path  over, — 
The  air  was  cool  and  clear. 
I  left  the  young  fawn  browsing, 
Nor  stags  nor  red  roes  rousing, 
I  sought  a  different  kind  of  deer. 

My  search  was  soon  rewarded; 

I'  the  shade  a  beech  accorded 

I  found  my  love  alone. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  me 

And  with  caresses  crowned  me — 

My  rival's  heart  was  turned  to  stone. 

Upon  the  beech-tree  hoary, 
A  symbol  of  our  story, 
A  single  heart  I  grave. 
And  there  our  hearts  united 
Shall  tell  of  true  love  plighted 
As  long  as  forest  trees  shall  wave. 


100  THE  BEECH-TREE. 

"Listen,  Hans!"  said  the  maiden,  when  the 
youth  had  ended.  "Your  song  reminds  me  of 
something.  I  know  —  the  people  say  that  in  the 
autumn  you  go  secretly  after  game  in  the  forest. 
Let  hunting  alone!  The  forester  has  a  grudge 
against  you  anyway — you  know  why.  And  if 
he  should  meet  you  as  a  poacher  in  the  forest, 
then  —  oh,  my  Hans,  if  they  should  bring  you 
home  shot  through  the  heart  —  " 

The  young  fellow  bent  down  over  the  maiden, 
who  leaned  caressingly  against  his  shoulder,  and 
kissed  her  mouth.  "The  people  tell  many  things. 
Don't  believe  all  that  people  say,  my  dear  heart's 
love ! "  Then  he  threw  his  arm  around  her  waist, 
and  went  away  singing  with  her  into  the  woods. 

When  the  pair  had  disappeared  behind  the 
trees,  a  man  in  hunting-dress,  with  a  rifle  on  his 
back  and  a  huntsman's  knife  at  his  side,  leaped 
out  of  the  bushes.  His  face  was  pale  and  dis- 
torted. He  walked  up  to  the  beech  and  looked 
at  the  heart  which  Hans  had  cut  in  the  bark. 
He  laughed  wildly,  and  took  out  his  knife  to 
erase  the  names;  but  he  changed  his  mind, 
and  thrust  the  blade  back  into  its  sheath.  He 
shook  his  fist  threateningly  in  the  direction 
which  the  lovers  had  taken,  and  grinding  his 


THE  BEECH-TREE,  101 

teeth,  said :  "  If  I  meet  you  once  more  poaching 
in  the  forest,  then  you  will  have  heard  the 
cuckoo's  call  for  the  last  time." 

With  these  words  he  went  into  the  woods,  and 
the  tree  shook  her  head  with  displeasure. 


In  the  course  of  the  summer  the  beech  saw 
many  human  beings,  —  poor  women,  who  gath- 
ered leaves  or  dry  branches;  children,  picking 
berries;  forest-folk,  and  travellers.  But  the  most 
welcome  guests  to  her  shady  roof  were  the  youth 
and  the  maiden  with  the  brown  braids.  They 
came  once  a  week,  spoke  of  their  love,  and  em- 
braced each  other;  and  the  beech  grew  more  and 
more  fond  of  them  every  day. 

One  morning  before  sunrise,  when  the  forest 
mountain  still  had  on  its  gray  hood  of  mist,  Hans 
came  alone.  He  carried  a  rifle  by  a  leather  strap, 
and  walked  carefully  through  the  underbrush  — 
as  carefully  as  though  he  wished  to  surprise  his 
sweetheart.  But  this  time  his  coming  was  not 
to  meet  the  beautiful  Eva,  but  the  stag,  which 
had  his  haunt  here.  At  the  foot  of  the  beech- 
tree  the  youth  stopped  and  stood  as  motionless 
as  though  he  were  a  tree  himself.  The  cool 


102  THE  BEECH-TREE. 

morning  breeze  came  and  blew  the  mist  down 
in  streaks.  The  birds  awoke  and  flew  away 
after  water.  There  was  a  stirring  in  the  under- 
brush of  the  forest,  and  Hans  lifted  his  gun. 

There  came  a  shot  out  of  the  thicket.  Hans 
dropped  his  rifle,  leaped  up,  and  then  fell  on  the 
ground. 

Out  of  the  forest,  with  hasty  bounds,  came  a 
man,  carrying  a  smoking  gun  in  his  left  hand. 
The  beech  knew  him  well. 

The  forester  bent  over  the  fallen  man.  "It 
is  all  over  with  him,"  he  said.  Then  he  loaded 
his  rifle  and  disappeared  in  the  thicket. 

The  sun  rose  and  shone  on  the  pale  face  of 
a  dead  man.  The  tree  bent  down  her  branches 
mournfully,  and  wept  shining  tears.  The  robin- 
redbreast  flew  along  and  put  flowers  on  the 
dead  youth's  face,  till  his  glassy  eyes  were  en- 
tirely covered  over. 

In  the  afternoon  the  wood-cutters  came  along 
the  path  and  found  the  corpse. 

"He  was  shot  while  poaching,"  they  said. 
Then  they  lifted  him  up  and  carried  him  down 
into  the  valley. 

An  old  man  lingered  by  the  tree.  He  took 
his  knife  and  cut  a  cross  in  the  bark.  He  put 


THE  BEECH-TREE.  103 

it  directly  over  the  heart.     Then  he  took  off  his 
hat  and  said  a  prayer. 

There  was  a  rustling  in  the  top  of  the  beech ; 
the  tree  also  was  praying  after  her  fashion. 

For  many  summers  in  succession  the  murdered 
youth's  sweetheart  came  on  the  day  of  his  death 
to  the  beech-tree,  knelt  down,  and  wept  and 
prayed;  and  every  time  she  looked  paler  and 
more  languid.  Finally  she  came  no  more. 

"She  must  be  dead,"  said  the  beech;  and  so 
she  was. 

*** 

Years  had  passed,  and  the  beech  had  grown 
to  a  mighty  tree.  Her  bark  was  covered  with 
brownish  moss;  vines  of  woodbine  climbed  up 
the  trunk,  and  both  heart  and  cross  were  covered 
over  with  green. 

One  day  there  came  a  man,  who  added  a 
third  mark  to  the  other  two;  and  the  beech  knew 
what  it  signified.  The  tree  was  marked  to  be 
cut  down. 

Farewell,  thou  verdant,  delectable  forest! 

It  was  not  long  before  the  wood-cutters  came, 
and  their  axes  cut  the  beech-tree  to  the  heart. 
A  sullen-looking  man  in  hunting-dress,  with  gray 
beard  and  hair,  directed  the  wood-cutters. 


104  THE  BEECH-TREE. 

The  beech  knew  the  man  right  well,  and  the 
man  seemed  to  recognize  the  tree.  He  went  up 
to  her  and  tore  the  moss  and  ivy-tresses  away 
from  her  trunk,  so  that  the  cross  and  heart  be- 
came visible. 

"Here  it  was,"  he  said  in  an  undertone;  and 
his  limbs  shook  with  horror. 

"  Back,  forester,  back  !  "  screamed  the  wood- 
cutters. "The  tree  will  fall." 

The  forester  staggered  back,  but  it  was  too 
late.  The  beech  fell  with  a  crash  to  the  ground, 
and  buried  him  under  her  boughs. 

When  they  took  him  out,  he  was  dead.  The 
beech  had  shattered  his  head. 

And  the  men  stood  around  in  a  circle  and 
prayed. 


THE  WATER  OF  FORGETFULNESS. 


"TN"  the  round  tower-room  adorned  with  hunting 
equipments,  antlers,  and  stuffed  wild  birds,  sat 
a  youth  on  a  wooden  stool,  twisting  a  bow-string 
out  of  marten-sinews  and  singing  a  gay  hunting 
song.  His  dress  indicated  that  he  was  a  hunts- 
man ;  his  short  hair  that  he  was  a  servant  in  the 
castle.  His  name  was  Heinz. 

From  the  ceiling  above  the  young  fellow's  head 
hung  a  swinging  hoop,  and  in  the  hoop  sat  a  gray 
falcon,  with  his  wings  tied  and  the  hood  over  his 
eyes.  From  time  to  time  the  huntsman  would 
stop  his  work  and  set  the  hoop  which  was  grad- 
ually coming  to  a  halt  in  quick  motion  again. 
This  was  to  prevent  the  falcon  from  going  to 
sleep,  for  it  was  a  young  bird  and  was  to  be 
trained  for  hunting :  the  breaking-in  of  a  properly 
trained  falcon  begins  with  making  him  submissive 
through  hunger  and  sleeplessness. 

Heinz   had  been  the  count's  falconer,  and  the 


106     THE   WATER   OF  FORGETFULNESS. 

old  master  had  kept  the  youth  busy  all  the  time. 
But  now  better  days  had  come  to  him.  The  count 
hunted  no  longer,  for  he  had  been  lying  silent  and 
still,  a  whole  year,  in  a  stone  coffin  decorated  with 
coats-of-arms ;  and  his  widow,  Frau  Adelheid,  sat 
the  whole  day  long  with  the  chaplain  and  gave  no 
thought  to  hunting  affairs. 

To-day  the  mistress  of  the  castle  must  have 
been  tired  of  praying,  for  she  came  out  of  her 
apartments  and  wandered  through  the  rooms  of 
the  fortress.  The  young  fellow's  song  made  a 
pleasing  contrast  to  the  monotonous,  nasal  chant- 
ing of  the  chaplain;  she  followed  the  voice,  and 
entered  the  falconer's  room  in  the  tower. 

Heinz  looked  amazed  when  he  saw  the  proud 
lady  in  her  mourning  veil  and  gray  dress  coming 
in.  He  rose  and  made  a  low,  respectful  bow. 
Frau  Adelheid's  brilliant  eyes  scanned  the  fal- 
coner's slender  form,  and  she  smiled  graciously, 
and  her  smile  seemed  to  the  youth  like  May  sun- 
shine. The  lady  asked  many  questions  about 
falconry  and  the  chase;  and  when  she  took  her 
departure,  she  gave  the  huntsman  such  a  strange 
look  that  the  bold  lad  turned  his  head  on  one 
side  like  a  little  fourteen-year-old  girl. 

A  few  days   afterwards  it  chanced  that  Frau 


THE   WATER    OF  FORGETFULNESS.     107 

Adelheid  rode  into  the  green  forest  on  a  milk- 
white  palfrey.  She  wore  no  gray  clothes,  however, 
but  a  dress  of  green  velvet,  and  instead  of  the 
widow's  veil,  a  sable-skin  hat  with  curling  feathers. 
Behind  her  rode  Heinz,  the  young  falconer,  with 
the  falcon  on  his  wrist ;  and  his  blue  eyes  shone 
with  delight. 

They  had  already  ridden  some  distance,  and 
the  castle-tower  had  long  before  disappeared  be- 
hind the  widespreading  branches  of  the  beeches. 
Then  Frau  Adelheid  turned  her  head  and  said, 
"  Ride  by  my  side,  Heinz."  And  Heinz  did  as 
the  lady  commanded  him.  The  path  was  narrow, 
and  the  countess'  riding-dress  brushed  against  the 
falconer's  knee.  Thus  they  rode  along.  The  trees 
rustled  softly,  the  chaffinches  sang,  and  occasionally 
little  forest  creatures  scampered  across  the  path. 
Now  and  then  there  was  a  crackling  of  breaking 
branches,  as  some  deer  hastened  into  the  woods, 
or  a  startled  bird  flew  up  with  fluttering  wings, 
and  then  deep  silence  lay  over  the  forest  again. 
And  the  lady  of  the  castle  turned  her  head  a 
second  time  to  the  huntsman,  and  said,  with  a 
smile  on  her  lips:  — 

"Now   let  me  see,   Heinz,  whether  you  are  a 
well-trained  huntsman. 


108     THE   WATER   OF  FORGETFULNESS. 

"  '  Dear  huntsman,  tell  me  aright 
What  mounts  higher  than  falcon  and  kite  ? '  " 

Without  stopping  to  think,  Heinz  replied :  — 

"  High  mounts  the  hawk,  and  high  mounts  the  kite, 
But  the  eagle  takes  a  loftier  flight." 

And  Frau  Adelheid  asked  again :  — 

"Dear  huntsman,  tell  me  true, 
What  mounts  higher  than  the  eagle  too?" 

The  falconer  thought  a  moment  or  two,  then 
he  answered:  — 

"  Still  higher  than  all  the  birds  that  fly 
Mounts  the  bright  sun-ball  in  the  sky." 

The  countess  nodded  with  satisfaction,  and 
asked  for  the  third  time :  — 

"  Declare  it  to  me,  beloved  one, 
What  mounts  still  higher  than  the  light  of  the  sun  ?  " 

Now  the  falconer's  skill  was  at  an  end.  He 
looked  up  to  the  tops  of  the  trees,  as  if  help  might 
come  to  him  from  there,  and  then  he  looked  down 
at  the  pommel  of  his  saddle ;  but  he  had  nothing 
to  say. 

Then  Frau  Adelheid  reined  in  her  palfrey,  bent 
towards  the  huntsman,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  :  — 


THE   WATER    OF  FORGETFULNESS.    109 

"The  sun  mounts  high  in  the  heavens  above; 
But  higher  still  mounts  secret  love." 

She  spoke  these  words,  and  threw  her  white 
arms  about  the  lad's  neck,  and  kissed  his  dark 
cheeks. 

Two  nutcrackers,  with  blue  wings,  fluttered 
out  of  the  hazel  bushes  and  flew  screaming  into 
the  woods  to  tell  what  they  had  seen ;  and  the 
next  morning  the  sparrows,  which  had  their  nests 
under  the  castle  roof,  twittered  one  to  another :  — 

"Tweet,  tweet, 
The  lady's  love  for  the  hunter  'a  sweet." 

Indeed,  it  was  a  fine  time  for  falconer  Heinz. 
He  let  his  hair  grow  till  it  hung  in  yellow  ring- 
lets down  over  his  shoulders,  and  he  wore  silver 
spurs  and  a  heron's  feather  in  his  hat,  and  he 
built  castles  in  the  air,  each  one  more  glowing 
than  the  last. 

To  be  sure  he  owned  no  castles,  but  he  was 
invested  with  a  splendid  forest  lodge  with  antlers 
on  the  gable,  and  field  and  meadow  land,  and 
there  he  lived  now  as  forester,  and  when  his 
gracious  lady  came  riding  out  to  him,  he  would 
stand  in  the  doorway  and  wave  his  hat  to  greet 
her,  then  lift  Frau  Adelheid  down  from  the 


110     THE  WATER    OF  FORGETFULNESS. 

saddle,  and  entertain  her  with  bread,  milk,  and 
honey. 

Thus  the  summer  passed  away,  and  the  autumn, 
and  half  the  winter,  and  it  came  to  be  Shrove- 
tide. Then  there  was  a  great  deal  of  visiting  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  the  count's  castle  looked 
like  an  inn.  But  forester  Heinz  sat  lonely  in 
the  huntsman's  house,  and  only  occasionally  did 
the  report  of  the  merry  doings  at  the  castle  come 
to  his  ears.  Finally  came  news  that  was  not 
altogether  pleasing  to  poor  Heinz.  Frau  Adel- 
heid  was  to  be  married  again,  so  the  story  went ; 
and  it  fell  on  the  young  fellow's  ear  like  a  funeral 
bell. 

Then  Heinz  closed  the  door  of  his  house  and 
went  on  the  way  to  the  castle,  muttering  between 
his  teeth  all  sorts  of  things  that  sounded  not  like 
prayers. 

When  he  came  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
where  the  winding  road  leads  up  to  the  castle, 
he  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs,  and  a  laugh  as 
clear  as  silver,  that  cut  his  heart  like  a  two- 
edged  knife ;  and  down  the  path  came  the  lad}7 
of  the  castle  on  her  white  palfrey,  and  near  her 
a  handsome  gentleman,  richly  dressed,  bestrode  a 
sleek  black  horse,  and  gazed  with  sparkling  eyes 
at  the  beautiful  woman  bv  his  side. 


THE   WATER   OF  FORGETFULNESS.    Ill 

Then  it  seemed  to  the  young  forester  as  though 
his  heart  would  burst ;  but  he  controlled  himself. 
He  sat  down  on  a  stone,  like  a  beggar,  and  as 
the  pair  drew  near  to  him,  he  sang :  — 

"The  sun  mounts  high  in  the  heavens  above; 
But  higher  still  mounts  secret  love." 

The  haughty  knight  reined  in  his  steed,  pointed 
with  his  whip  at  the  huntsman,  and  asked  his 
companion,  "What  does  that  mean?  Who  is  the 
man  ?  " 

The  color  left  the  countess'  cheeks,  but  she 
quickly  recovered  herself,  and  said :  — 

"A  crazy  huntsman.  Come,  let  us  hurry  past 
him.  It  frightens  me  to  be  near  him." 

But  the  knight  had  opened  his  purse,  and  he 
threw  a  gold  piece  to  the  man  by  the  wayside. 
Then  Heinz  cried  aloud,  and  threw  himself  face 
downwards  on  the  ground.  But  the  riders  spurred 
on  their  horses  and  rode  hastily  away. 

The  sound  of  the  hoofs  had  long  died  away 
before  the  unfortunate  youth  rose  from  the  ground. 
He  wiped  the  dust  and  dirt  from  his  face,  pulled 
his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  and  strode  away  into 
the  forest.  He  hurried  on  aimlessly  till  night- 
fall. Then  he  threw  himself  down  under  a  tree, 


112     THE   WATER    OF  FORGETFULNESS 

wrapped  his  cloak  about  him,  and  sleep  came 
over  the  exhausted  man. 

Poor  Heinz  slept  all  night  long  without  a 
dream,  till  the  chill  of  dawn  awoke  him.  But 
immediately  his  whole  sorrow  stood  again  before 
him  and  grinned  at  him  like  an  evil  spirit. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  forget,"  he  cried ;  "  if  I  could 
only  forget!  There  is  a  fountain,  and  if  one 
drinks  of  its  waters  all  the  past  vanishes  from 
his  memory.  Who  will  show  me  the  way  to 
that  spring  ?  " 

"  Here ! "  called  a  voice  near  at  hand.  "  The 
water  that  causes  forgetfulness  I  am  very  familiar 
with,  and  I  will  gladly  tell  you  all  that  I  know 
about  it." 

Heinz  looked  up  and  saw  before  him  a  youth 
in  dark,  tattered  garments ;  his  toes  peeped  in- 
quisitively out  of  his  shoes.  He  represented  him- 
self to  be  a  travelling  scholar,  and  went  on  to 
say:  — 

"  The  water  which  makes  one  forget  is  called 
Lethe,  and  has  its  source  in  Greece.  You  will 
have  to  take  a  journey  there  and  inquire  the 
particulars  on  the  spot.  But  if  you  wish  to  have 
it  more  conveniently,  come  with  me  to  the  tavern 
of  the  Purple  Grape.  It  is  not  far  from  here. 


THE   WATER    OF  FORGETFULNESS.     113 

There  the  hostess  will  give  you  a  taste  of  the 
water  of  forgetfulness,  provided  that  your  purse 
is  longer  than  mine." 

These  were  the  scholar's  words.  Heinz  arose 
and  followed  him  to  the  forest  inn.  There  they 
drank  together  all  one  day  and  half  the  night ;  and 
when,  towards  midnight,  they  lay  peaceably  on 
the  bench,  Heinz  had  forgotten  everything  that 
troubled  and  oppressed  him.  But  with  the  morn- 
ing light  the  tormenting  recollection  returned,  and 
he  had  a  headache  besides.  Then  he  paid  his  own 
bill  and  his  companion's,  took  a  hasty  farewell  of 
the  travelling  scholar,  and  went  on  further. 

"  Oh,  who  could  forget ! "  he  said  as  he  went 
along,  and  beat  his  forehead  with  his  fist.  "  I 
must  find  the  fountain,  or  I  shall  be  really  insane." 

By  the  wayside  stood  an  old  half-dead  willow, 
and  in  the  willow  sat  a  raven,  who  turned  his  head 
toward  the  lonely  wanderer  and  looked  at  him 
with  curiosity. 

"  Thou  wise  bird,"  said  the  forester  to  the 
raven,  "thou  kuowest  everything  that  happens 
on  the  earth;  tell  me,  where  does  the  water  of 
forgetfulness  flow?" 

"  I,  too,  should  like  to  know  that,"  said  the 
raven,  "  in  order  to  drink  of  it  myself.  I  knew  a 


114     THE   WATER    OF  FORGET* ULNESS. 

nest  with  seven  fat,  nut-fed  dormice,  and  when  I 
went  yesterday  to  see  what  the  dear  little  creatures 
were  doing,  the  marten  had  taken  the  nest  away 
from  me  and  not  a  piece  of  it  was  left.  And  now, 
no  matter  where  I  go,  I  can  think  of  nothing  but 
my  loss.  Indeed,  who  can  tell  about  the  water  of 
forgetf ulness !  But  do  you  know  something,  dear 
fellow  ?  Just  go  to  the  old  woman  of  the  forest, 
who  is  wiser  than  other  people  and  perhaps  knows 
the  fountain  of  forgetfulness."  Thereupon  the  ra- 
ven told  the  huntsman  the  way  to  the  old  woman 
of  the  forest.  Heinz  thanked  him,  and  went  on. 

The  old  woman  was  at  home.  She  sat  in  front 
of  her  cottage,  spinning,  and  nodding  her  white 
head.  By  her  side  a  gray  cat,  with  grass-green 
eyes,  sat  licking  her  paws  and  purring. 

Heinz  stepped  up  to  the  old  woman,  greeted  her 
respectfully,  and  made  known  his  errand. 

"  I  know  everything  about  the  fountain  of  for- 
getfulness," said  the  old  woman  of  the  forest, 
"and  will  not  withhold  a  drink  of  its  waters  from 
you,  poor  boy.  But  no  work,  no  pay :  if  you  wish 
to  have  a  glass  of  the  precious  drink,  you  must 
first  perform  three  tasks  for  me.  Will  you  do 
it?" 

"If  I  can." 


THE    WATER    OF  FORGETFULNESS,    115 

"  I  do  not  expect  impossibilities  of  you.  To 
begin  \vith,  you  shall  cut  down  the  wood  behind 
my  house.  That  is  the  first  labor." 

The  young  fellow  consented.  The  old  woman 
gave  him  an  axe  and  led  him  to  the  place.  Heinz 
stretched  himself  and  swung  the  axe,  and  every 
time  he  struck  a  blow  he  imagined  that  he  hit  his 
rival,  and  the  trees  fell  crashing  beneath  his  mighty 
strokes,  and  the  crashing  did  him  good.  Thus 
evening  came  on,  and  Heinz  looked  about  for  food, 
for  he  was  very  hungry.  He  did  not  have  long  to 
wait,  for  out  of  the  house  came  a  woman's  figure, 
who  placed  a  basket  with  food  and  drink  beside 
the  weary  wood-cutter. 

As  Heinz  raised  his  eyes,  he  saw  before  him  a 
wonderfully  lovely  face,  framed  in  yellow  hair,  on 
which  gleamed  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 
It  was  the  old  forest  woman's  daughter.  She 
looked  at  the  sad  young  fellow  with  gentle  eyes, 
and  remained  standing  before  him  awhile.  But  as 
he  said  nothing,  she  went  away  again.  Heinz  ate 
and  drank.  Then  he  gathered  together  fir  boughs 
and  wood  moss  for  a  bed,  laid  himself  down,  and 
slept  a  dreamless  sleep.  But  when  he  awoke  in 
the  morning,  his  sorrow  awoke  again  too. 

Then  he  seized  the  axe  and  attacked  the  trees,  so 


116     THE   WATER    OF  FORGETFULNESS. 

that  the  forest,  for  a  mile  around,  resounded  with 
his  mighty  blows.  And  when  at  evening  the 
beautiful  maiden  came  with  his  supper,  Heinz 
did  not  look  as  sad  as  the  day  before ;  and  be- 
cause he  felt  that  he  must  say  something,  he  said, 
"Fine  weather  to-day."  Whereupon  the  maiden 
answered,  "Yes,  very  fine  weather,"  and  then 
nodded  and  went  home. 

Thus  seven  days  passed  away,  each  one  like  the 
other,  and  on  the  seventh  day  the  last  tree  was 
cut  down.  The  old  forest  woman  came  out, 
praised  Heinz  for  his  industry,  and  said,  "Now 
comes  the  second  task." 

Then  Heinz  had  to  dig  up  the  roots  of  the  trees, 
break  up  the  soil,  plant  corn,  and  sow  seed.  This 
took  him  seven  weeks.  But  every  evening,  after 
his  day's  work  was  done,  the  old  woman's  daugh- 
ter brought  him  his  supper  and  sat  near  by  on  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  and  listened  to  Heinz  as  he  told 
her  about  the  outside  world,  and  when  he  finished 
she  gave  him  her  white  hand  and  said,  "  Good 
night,  dear  Heinz."  Then  she  went  home,  but 
Heinz  looked  about  for  a  resting  place  and  imme- 
diately fell  asleep. 

When  the  seven  weeks  were  gone,  the  old  wo- 
man came  and  looked  at  his  work,  praised  the 


THE   WATER   OF  FORGETFULNESS.    117 

youth  for  his  industry,  and  said  :  "  Now  comes  the 
third  task.  Now  with  the  wood  you  have  felled 
you  must  build  me  a  house  with  seven  rooms,  and 
when  you  have  finished  that  too,  then  you  shall 
have  a  glass  of  the  water  of  forgetfuluess,  and  can 
go  wherever  you  please." 

Then  Heinz  became  a  carpenter,  and  with  axe 
and  saw  he  built  a  splendid  house.  To  be  sure, 
the  work  went  on  slowly  at  first,  because  Heinz 
worked  without  help;  but  that  was  not  distasteful 
to  him,  for  he  enjoyed  the  green  forest,  and  would 
have  liked  to  live  always  near  the  old  woman.  In- 
deed, he  sometimes  thought  still  of  his  former 
sorrow,  but  only  as  one  who  has  had  a  bad  dream, 
and  in  the  morning  is  glad  that  he  has  awakened 
from  it.  Every  evening  the  forest  woman's  daugh- 
ter came  out  to  him,  and  they  sang  together, 
sometimes  gay  hunting  songs,  sometimes  songs 
which  told  of  parting,  of  unrequited  love  and  joy- 
ful meetings. 

Thus  seven  months  passed  by.  Then  the  house 
was  finished  from  threshold  to  roof-tree.  Heinz 
had  placed  a  young  fir-tree  on  the  gable,  and  the 
maiden  had  made  wreaths  of  fir-twigs  and  red 
berries  from  the  mountain-ash,  and  trimmed  the 
walls  with  them.  The  old  woman  came  on  her 


118     THE   WATER  OF  FORGETFULNESS. 

crutch,  with  the  cat  on  her  shoulder,  to  inspect  the 
completed  work.  She  looked  very  solemn,  and  in 
her  hand  she  carried  a  goblet  carved  out  of  wood, 
and  filled  with  the  water  of  forgetfulness. 

"  You  have  performed  the  three  tasks  which  I 
have  imposed  upon  you,"  she  said,  "  and  now 
comes  the  reward.  Take  this  goblet,  and  when 
you  have  emptied  it  to  the  last  drop,  then  the  past 
will  be  blotted  out  of  your  memory." 

The  forester  hesitated  as  he  reached  out  his 
hand  towards  the  goblet. 

"  Drink,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  and  forget 
everything." 

"  Everything  ?  " 

"  Yes,  everything  —  your  former  sorrow,  myself, 
and  —  " 

"  And  me,  too,"  said  the  beautiful  maiden,  and 
she  held  her  hand  before  her  eyes  to  keep  back  the 
rising  tears. 

Then  the  youth  seized  the  goblet  and  with  his 
strong  hand  flung  it  on  the  ground,  so  that  the 
sparkling  drops  of  the  water  rained  down  on  the 
grass,  and  he  cried,  "Mother,  I  will  stay  with 
you!" 

And  before  he  knew  what  had  happened  to  him, 
the  maiden  lay  on  his  breast  and  sobbed  for  joy. 


THE   WATER   OF  FORGETFULNESS.     119 

And  a  rustling  went  through  the  trees,  and  the 
yellow  corn  all  around  nodded  in  the  wind,  the 
birds  sang  in  the  branches,  and  the  old  woman's 
gray  cat  went  purring  round  and  round  the  happy 
pair. 

Now  I  could  without  much  difficulty  change  the 
old  woman  into  a  beautiful  fairy,  her  daughter  to 
a  princess,  and  the  newly  built  house  to  a  shining 
royal  castle;  but  let  us  rather  keep  to  the  truth, 
and  let  everything  be  as  it  was. 

But  something  wonderful  really  did  happen. 
Wherever  a  drop  of  the  water  of  forgetful  ness  fell 
on  the  ground,  there  sprang  up  a  little  flower  with 
eyes  of  heavenly  blue.  The  flower  has  since 
spread  over  the  whole  land,  and  for  those  who  do 
not  know  its  name  this  story  was  not  written. 


THEODELINDA 
AND  THE  WATER-SPRITE. 


/~\N  the  edge  of  the  forest,  where  the  flowers 
grow  that  do  not  thrive  in  the  deeper  shade, 
where  the  brown  field-mice  dwell  and  the  green 
lizards,  where  the  wren  dodges  through  the  bushes 
and  beetles  in  golden  coats  of  mail  tumble  about 
the  wild  roses,  there  stood,  like  sentinels,  two  pri- 
meval pine-trees,  which  seemed  to  grow  from  the 
same  root.  At  the  foot  of  the  twin  trees  was  a 
seat  formed  of  stones  and  moss,  and  on  the  seat 
sat  a  lady  who  only  differed  from  the  majority  of 
her  sisters  in  that  her  form  showed  hollows,  where 
one  was  usually  accustomed  to  find  roundness. 
She  wore  a  sky-blue  dress  and  a  broad-brimmed 
straw  hat,  which  shaded  a  yellowish  face,  framed 
by  two  bread-colored  curls.  In  her  right  hand  she 
held  a  dainty  pencil,  in  her  left  a  little  red  book, 
on  the  cover  of  which,  in  gold  letters,  was  in- 
scribed these  words:  "The  Blossoms  of  Theode- 
linda's  Mind." 


THEODELINDA.  121 

Theodelinda  was  a  poetess,  and  the  latest  blos- 
som of  her  mind  ran  thus  :  — 

In  cool  moss  by  the  wood 
A  lovely  rose-bush  stood. 
There  came  a  lad  one  day 
And  broke  a  rose  away. 

The  rose,  in  sorrow,  said, 
"He  will  my  petals  shed; 
Yet  sweet  it  is  to  die, 
If  on  his  breast  I  lie." 

The  verses  were  written  down,  and  the  poet- 
ess' watery  blue  eyes  looked  longingly  into  the 
distance,  but  the  lad  of  whom  she  was  think- 
ing would  not  come;  the  lad  was  at  that  mo- 
ment sitting  with  two  boisterous  companions, 
drinking,  in  the  forest  tavern  of  the  White 
Stag,  and  never  dreamed  of  breaking  the  little 
rose. 

Theodelinda  sighed,  and  picked  a  daisy  which 
was  growing  in  the  grass  at  her  feet.  "He 
loves  me,"  she  murmured,  as  her  sharp  fingers 
pulled  off  the  white  petals, — "he  loves  me  with 
all  his  heart  —  passionately  —  beyond  measure  — 
desperately  —  a  little  —  not  at  all."  Alas,  poor 
Theodelinda! 


122  THEODELINDA  AND 

"  That  is  absurd  child's  play,"  she  said,  and 
threw  the  mutilated  flower  contemptuously  on 
the  ground.  Then  she  tucked  up  her  dress 
and  walked  away  into  the  woods,  probably  to 
pluck  one  or  two  more  of  the  blossoms  of  her 
mind  in  its  sacred  dim  shade. 

If  Theodelinda  had  not  been  a  city  girl,  but 
a  peasant  child  of  the  mountains,  she  would 
have  been  much  more  careful  when  she  under- 
took to  go  through  the  woods;  and,  above  all 
things,  would  have  put  in  her  shoe  a  little 
branch  of  the  shrub  which  renders  harmless  all 
magic  charms.  Then  what  came  to  pass  would 
hardly  have  happened  to  her.  But  what  could 
a  poor  city  lass  know  about  the  secrets  of  the 
forest  ? 

Where  the  mightiest  fir-trees,  with  long  gray 
beards  of  moss  stand,  in  the  shade  grows  a  plant 
called  "err-wort."  Nobody  except  the  wood- 
pecker, who  knows  all  magic  plants,  has  ever 
seen  it,  but  many  a  one  who  has  stepped  on 
it  unawares,  and  not  had  the  counter-charm 
with  him,  must  have  felt  its  effect. 

While  the  poetess  was  trying  to  add  "love" 
and  "  dove  "  "  heart "  and  "  part "  to  the  blossoms 
of  her  thought,  she  went  gradually  deeper  and 


THE   WATER-SPRITE.  123 

deeper  into  the  forest.  The  approaching  twilight 
and  a  longing  in  the  region  of  the  stomach, 
which  ordinary  mortals  call  hunger,  first  warned 
the  pleasure-seeker  that  it  was  time  to  return 
home.  She  turned  to  go  back  by  the  way  she 
had  come,  but  it  seemed  to  her  as  though  the 
forest  were  endless,  for  she  went  around  in  a 
circle,  and  the  err-wort,  on  which  she  had  stepped 
unawares,  was  to  blame  for  it.  Oh,  misery!  oh, 
miseryl  It  grew  darker  and  darker  all  the  time. 
The  shadowy  creatures  of  the  night  glided  across 
the  path,  and  the  hooting  of  the  robber  owls 
was  heard.  Theodelinda  was  in  despair. 

Suddenly  she  found  herself  before  a  little 
house,  out  of  whose  window  shone  a  faint  light. 
With  thankful  heart  she  knocked  on  the  door ; 
it  opened,  and  she  went  in. 

In  the  hut  were  three  trim  little  women,  no 
larger  than  half-grown  girls,  busy  baking  cakes 
on  the  hearth.  They  were  little  forest  folk. 
They  are  usually  invisible,  •  but  whoever  steps 
on  the  err-wort  is  able  to  see  the  little  forest 
folk,  and  many  other  things  besides. 

They  received  the  wanderer  with  kindness 
and  attention,  pushed  a  stool  up  to  the  fire  for 
her,  and  entertained  her  with  bread  and  milk. 


124  THEODELINDA   AND 

Theodelinda  felt  confidence  in  them,  and  was 
soon  quite  at  her  ease  in  their  company,  for  they 
promised  when  the  morning  came  to  show  her 
the  right  way. 

"This  is  for  once  a  real  adventure,  such  as 
only  a  poet  can  meet  with,"  thought  Theodelin- 
da; and  she  experienced  the  feeling  of  gentle 
horror,  mingled  with  satisfaction,  of  a  child 
listening  to  a  ghost  story.  But  it  -was  going  to 
be  still  better. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  tapping  on  the  window, 
and  a  man's  voice  was  heard  to  say :  — 

"  Open  the  door,  ye  sisters  dear! 
The  moon  shines  on  the  waters  clear. 
It  led  me  through  the  forest  way. 
Open  the  door,  good  sisters,  pray!" 

"  There  he  is  again,"  said  one  of  the  little 
women  ;  "  the  fiend,  the  nuisance  !  his  mother,  the 
old  nixie,  sends  him  here.  She  wants  him  to 
marry,  so  that  the  thoughtless  fellow  may  be- 
come orderly  and  domestic,  and  so  she  thinks 
that  one  of  us  ought  to  count  it  an  honor  to 
become  her  daughter-in-law.  But  I  would  rather 
be  a  spinster  than  leave  my  green  forest  and 
become  his  wife." 

"  And  so  would  I ! "  "  And  so  would  I ! "  said  the 


THE    WATER-SPRITE.  125 

other  two  little  women.  But  Theodelinda  said 
not  a  word. 

"We  must  let  him  in,"  continued  the  first 
one;  "that  can  do  no  harm.  He  is  a  very 
dangerous  fellow,  and  we  dare  not  arouse  his 
anger."  And,  with  a  sigh,  she  unbolted  the  door. 

The  water-sprite  came  in.  He  had  a  pretty 
face  and  a  slender  form.  To  be  sure,  he  had 
green  hair,  but  Miss  Theodelinda  thought  it 
was  very  becoming  to  him. 

The  guest  looked  somewhat  disturbed  when 
he  discovered  what  a  visitor  the  little  folk  had, 
but,  like  a  well-bred  person,  he  did  not  allow 
his  displeasure  to  be  noticed,  and  made  him- 
self as  charming  as  only  a  water-sprite  knows 
how  to  be. 

Theodelinda  was  very  talkative ;  she  told 
about  balls  and  the  theatre,  and  the  water- 
sprite  listened  patiently.  Then  he  had  to  tell 
something  about  himself,  and  he  did  it  graciously. 

Indeed,  he  was  a  fine  man,  and  probably  much 
better  than  his  reputation.  And  besides,  he  had 
a  crystal  castle  in  the  lake,  which  was  not  to  be 
despised,  and  the  old  mother  nixie  was  surely  a 
very  fine  woman.  Thus  thought  Theodelinda; 
and  in  her  mind  she  was  already  rocking  on  the 


126  THEODELINDA   AND 

waves  like  Melusina,  and  floating  through  the 
air  in  a  feathery  robe. 

She  longed  to  make  an  impression  on  the 
water-sprite.  Therefore,  after  a  few  preliminary 
remarks,  she  took  the  little  red  book  out  of  her 
bosom  and  began  to  read  her  poetry. 

For  some  time  the  water-sprite  listened  and 
murmured  words  of  appreciation.  But  suddenly 
he  jumped  up  and  exclaimed:  "Gracious  good- 
ness! I  had  almost  forgotten  that  I  was  invited 
by  the  wild  huntsman  and  Lady  Holle  to  a  card 
party.  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me."  Having  spoken 
these  words,  he  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

Theodelinda  looked  out,  surprised,  at  the  door 
through  which  he  had  fled.  But  the  little  forest 
people  clapped  their  hands  and  cried  joyfully: 
"You  have  done  well;  you  have  done  well! 
You  must  have  a  present  as  a  reward." 

And  one  of  the  little  women  went  to  a  chest, 
took  a  skein  of  blue  yarn  out  of  it,  and  handed 
it  to  the  poetess  with  these  words :  "  Take  good 
care  of  it;  there  is  a  blessing  with  it." 

Theodelinda  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it 
all. 

Vexed  at  the  behavior  of  the  water-sprite,  and 
tired  from  the  day's  exertion,  she  begged  her  to 


THE    WATER-SPRITE.  127 

show  her  to  a  sleeping-place.  The  little  women 
heaped  up  a  bed  of  leaves  for  her.  Then  she  lay 
down  and  fell  asleep. 

When  she  awoke,  she  was  lying  on  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  under  the  twin  pines.  The  cool 
morning  wind  was  blowing  through  the  tops  of 
the  trees  and  playing  with  Theodelinda's  bread- 
colored  locks. 

"  So  I  have  been  dreaming,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "and  slept  all  night  in  the  woods."  She 
felt  iu  the  place  where  she  was  accustomed  to 
put  away  her  red  book,  but  the  book  was  gone. 
She  jumped  up  in  alarm,  and  then  a  great  skein 
of  blue  yarn  rolled  out  of  her  lap  on  the  ground. 
So  it  wasn't  a  dream,  after  all. 

She  hunted  for  her  red  book,  but  it  had  dis- 
appeared forever.  Chilly,  and  out  of  sorts,  she 
tried  to  reach  home  as  soon  as  possible,  to  recover 
from  her  adventure  in  the  forest.  It  ended  in  a 
hard  cold. 

While  Theodelinda  was  shut  up  in  her  room 
on  account  of  her  indisposition,  she  wrote  her 
poetry  from  memory  in  a  new  book.  The  little 
forest  women  had  taken  the  old  one  away  from 
her,  while  she  slept,  in  order  to  use  the  blossoms 
of  Theodelinda's  mind  as  effectual  weapons 


128  THEODELINDA. 

against  the  water-sprite's  obtrusiveuess.  Indeed, 
that  put  an  end  to  his  visits,  and  soon  after  he 
married  the  daughter  of  a  nixie  of  good  family. 

But  the  blue  skein  of  yarn  which  the  little 
forest  folk  had  given  the  poetess  as  a  present, 
was  no  ordinary  skein;  unwind  as  much  of  it  as 
you  pleased,  you  would  never  come  to  the  end. 

And  Miss  Theodelinda  knit  stocking  after 
stocking,  and  made  verses  at  the  same  time; 
and  when  she  went  along  the  street,  the  people 
said,  "Here  comes  the  blue-stocking." 


THE  ASS'S  SPEING. 


TN  a  green  valley,  shut  in  by  steep  heights,  a 
cool,  abundant  spring,  called  the  Ass's  Well, 
has  its  source.  The  spring  is  inclosed,  and  cov- 
ered over  with  a  canopy,  on  the  top  of  which  turns 
a  tin  ass  as  weather  vane. 

Every  morning  in  summer  there  stand  by  the 
edge  of  the  well,  pale  young  ladies  from  the  city, 
who,  under  the  care  of  anxious  mothers  and  pro- 
tecting aunts,  drink  the  cold  water  from  hand- 
some mugs.  City  gentlemen,  too,  visit  the  spring, 
and  indeed  not  only  the  sickly  ones,  but  also 
healthy  youths  with  brown  faces,  and  bold-twisted 
mustaches.  A  warrior,  gray  with  age,  who  for 
thirty  years  had  come  and  gone  with  the  swallows; 
a  poetical,  incomprehensible  young  lady,  with 
long,  straw-colored  curls;  a  mysterious  widow  in 
deep  mourning;  a  prestigiator,  who  is  especially 
sought  after  in  rainy  weather,  and  who  makes 
money  vanish  and  guesses  drawn  cards ;  —  all  these 


130  THE  ASS'S  SPRING. 

characters  are  to  be  found  at  the  ass's  well,  and 
therefore  there  is  no  lack  of  what  belongs  to  a 
so-called  "  summer  resort."  But  wait !  we  had  al- 
most forgotten  the  most  important  feature,  the 
landlady  of  the  Golden  Goose.  She  rules  with 
unlimited  power,  cooks  well,  %nd  treats  high  and 
low  with  an  honest  brusqueness  which  to  the  city 
people  is  as  refreshing  as  May  dew. 

There  is  great  difference  of  opinion  about  the 
origin  of  the  name  the  well  bears.  Some  say  that 
a  thirsty  ass  disclosed  the  spring  by  pawing  with 
his  hoofs.  Others  claim  that  the  well  is  so  called 
because  its  waters,  like  ass's  milk,  are  beneficial  to 
feeble  constitutions.  But  both  opinions  are  at 
fault.  This  will  become  clear  as  daylight  to  all 
who  read  this  story  to  the  end. 

Many,  many  years  ago,  when  the  mightiest  tree 
in  the  forest  was  still  a  germ  sleeping  in  a  brown 
acorn,  nothing  was  known  of  the  healing  power 
of  the  future  Ass's  Well.  The  visitors  who  came 
to  its  brink  were  the  beasts  of  the  forest  or  grazing 
cattle,  and  deer ;  wood-cutters,  huntsmen  and  char- 
coal-burners ;  and  men  praised  the  cool  water, 
and  the  beasts  did  the  same  after  their  own 
fashion. 

One  day  two  stood  by  the  well,  —  one  on  this 


THE  ASS'S  SPRING.  131 

side,  the  other  on  that.  He  was  an  ass,  and  she 
was  a  goose,  both  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth. 
They  greeted  each  other  silently,  and  quenched 
their  thirst.  Then  the  ass  drew  near  to  the  goose, 
and  asked  bashfully,  "  Young  lady,  may  I  accom- 
pany you?" 

She  nodded,  and  would  gladly  have  blushed, 
but  this  she  was  unable  to  do,  and  they  went 
together  through  the  meadow  and  talked  about 
the  weather.  They  had  gone  quite  a  distance, 
when  the  ass  stood  still  and  asked,  "  Young  lady, 
whither  does  your  way  lead  ?  " 

The  goose  looked  sadly  at  her  companion  as- 
kance, and  said  quietly,  "How  do  I  know?  Oh, 
I  am  the  most  unfortunate  creature  under  the 
sun ! "  And  as  the  ass  questioned  her  further, 
and  urged  her  to  pour  out  her  heart,  she  related 
the  story  of  her  life. 

"  I  am  called  Alheid,"  said  the  goose,  "  and  am 
of  good  family.  My  ancestor  was  one  of  the 
sacred  geese  that  saved  the  capital.  You  know 
the  story,  young  gentleman?" 

The  ass  said  hesitatingly,  "Ye-es."  He  had 
really  never  heard  of  the  story,  but  he  did  not 
wish  to  grieve  the  goose. 

u  Another  of  my  maternal  ancestors,"  continued 


132  THE  ASS'S  SPRING. 

Alheid,  "  was  on  friendly  terms  with  Saint  Martin. 
She  is  said,  according  to  the  sad  legend,  to  have 
given  her  life  for  him.  But  I  will  not  dwell  on 
the  history  of  my  ancestors,  but  tell  you  about 
myself.  I  came  to  the  light  of  the  world,  together 
with  eleven  brothers  and  sisters,  and,  indeed,  on 
a  farm,  where  my  mother  as  a  brooding  goose 
lived  a  life  appropriate  to  her  station.  I  was 
my  mother's  pet,  for  in  our  family  the  youngest 
child  is  always  the  most  talented." 

"  Just  as  it  is  in  ours,"  remarked  the  ass. 

"  I  will  pass  over  the  years  of  my  childhood," 
continued  the  goose,  "the  happy  plays  in  the 
village  pond  and  in  the  lake  of  the  castle  garden, 
where,  in  the  company  of  the  young  swans,  I 
acquired  that  elegance  of  motion  for  which  I  have 
been  so  often  admired.  I  had  long  before  shed 
the  yellow  down  of  youth  and  had  blossomed  into 
the  prime  of  life.  Then,  one  day  there  appeared 
on  the  farm  a  man,  who  had  a  very  hooked  nose ; 
his  temples  were  adorned  on  the  right  and  on 
the  left  with  two  shiny  black  curls,  and  over  his 
shoulder  hung  a  pack.  The  farmer's  wife  and 
the  maids  nocked  around  him,  and  looked  with 
longing  eyes  at  the  bright-colored  ribbons  and 
cloths  which  he  took  out  of  his  bag.  To  make 


THE  ASS'S  SPXZNG.  133 

a  long  story  short,  I  was  caught,  and  with  my 
feet  and  wings  bound  I  was  given  over  to  the 
stranger,  who  took  me  in  exchange  for  a  blue 
handkerchief  decorated  with  red  roses.  Now  came 
melancholy  days.  I  was  shut  up  in  a  narrow 
coop,  and  given  balls  of  barley  flour  to  fatten 
me.  With  horror  I  noticed  that  my  circumference 
increased  from  day  to  day,  and  even  my  grief 
over  my  wretched  plight  was  unable  to  arrest 
the  evil." 

Here  the  ass  cast  a  look  at  his  companion's 
figure,  and  swore  that  he  never  had  seen  a  more 
elegant  goose.  With  a  look  of  thankfulness  at 
the  ass,  Alheid  continued:  — 

"  Last  night  —  I  shudder  to  think  of  it  — 
I  heard  woful  cries  of  agony,  which  evidently 
came  from  the  throat  of  one  of  my  fellow-pris- 
oners. I  saw  two  eyes  shine  in  the  moonlight, 
and  heard  the  death-rattle.  A  fox  or  a  polecat 
must  have  broken  into  the  coop.  Fear  lent  me 
strength.  I  forced  myself  through  the  bars  of  my 
prison  and  escaped.  I  was  saved.  My  wings  bore 
me  to  this  valley ;  and  now  I  shall  try  to  prolong 
my  life  as  a  wild  goose,  until  winter  comes,  when 
I  shall,  perhaps,  find  a  modest  position  as  snow 
goose." 


134  THE  ASS'S  SPRING. 

Alheid  sighed  deeply,  and  then  was  silent. 

"My  fate,"  said  the  ass,  "is  similar  to  yours, 
Miss  Alheid.  Look  at  the  black  cross  which 
decorates  my  shoulder;  that  will  tell  you  all.  I 
am  of  the  race  of  the  sacred  ass  of  Jerusalem,  and 
Baldwin  is  my  name.  My  pedigree  goes  back  to 
Noah's  ark.  Balaam's  ass,  and  the  ass  with  whose 
jawbone  Samson  slew  two  thousand  Philistines 
are  my  ancestors.  The  one  of  my  ancestors  who 
died  like  a  philosopher  between  two  bundles  of 
hay,  I  will  only  mention  incidently;  nor  will  I 
dwell  on  the  worthiest  of  my  high-aspiring  fore- 
fathers, who  founded  the  collateral  branch  of 
mules.  My  parents  were  convent  people,  and  bore 
pious  monks  on  their  errands  of  charity.  My 
older  brothers  and  sisters  became  lay  brethren ; 
but  the  fathers  sold  me  to  the  convent  miller, 
and  I,  a  sacred  ass,  saw  myself  compelled  by 
rough  men  to  carry  contemptible  meal  sacks.  For 
a  long  time  I  suffered  in  silent  submission.  But 
one  night,  when  the  cruelty  of  a  rough  miller's 
boy  drove  me  to  desperation,  I  burst  my  fetters, 
and  came  to  this  peaceful  forest  valley,  where  I 
found  you  by  the  cool  well,  most  charming  Alheid. 
Here  I  think  I  shall  remain  for  the  present,  and 
lead  the  contemplative  life  of  a  wild  ass." 


THE  ASS'S  SPRING.  135 

So  the  ass  and  the  goose  both  remained  in 
the  meadow  valley.  They  dwelt  apart  from  each 
other,  as  it  became  them,  but  they  saw  each 
other  and  talked  together  daily,  and  at  last  one 
could  no  longer  live  without  the  other.  They 
were  happy  and  sad  at  the  same  time ;  happy, 
because  they  loved  and  found  love  in  return ; 
sad,  because  they  saw  that  they  could  never 
belong  to  one  another. 

"  Oh !  why  was  I  born  a  goose ! "  bewailed 
Alheid;  and  Baldwin,  the  ass,  sighed,  "If  I 
were  a  bird  ! "  and  he  knew,  too,  what  kind  of 
a  bird  he  would  be. 

Thus  weeks  passed  by.  The  ass  grew  per- 
ceptibly thin,  although  there  was  no  lack  of 
nourishing  food  iu  the  meadow  valley ;  and  the 
goose  lost  the  red  color  from  her  bill,  and  her 
eyes  became  dull. 

Now,  there  lived  in  the  forest,  in  a  hollow 
stone,  an  owl,  who  was  the  most  clever  female 
anywhere  about,  and  the  beasts  often  went  to 
her  for  advice.  The  ass  told  her  his  distress, 
and  when  the  owl  had  heard  his  story,  she  said : 
"  That  I  cannot  help.  But  wait  till  Midsummer. 
Then  the  wise  Wish-Lady  comes  to  the  well  in 
the  meadow  valley  to  bathe.  Confide  to  her 


136  THE  ASS'S  SPKING. 

your  trouble.  Perhaps  she  will  help  you,  and 
change  your  form ;  she  is  a  powerful  magician." 

Then  the  ass  went  away  half  consoled.  On 
Midsummer  eve,  when  Alheid,  the  goose,  had 
sought  her  resting-place,  he  concealed  himself 
near  the  spring  to  wait  for  the  Wish-Lady. 

She  did  not  keep  him  waiting  long.  She 
came  flying  along  in  her  dress  of  swan's  feathers, 
threw  aside  the  downy  garment,  and  bathed  her 
white  limbs  in  the  cool  spring.  The  ass  waited 
with  an  ass's  patience  until  she  came  out  of 
the  water;  and  when  she  had  sat  down  on  a 
stone  and  was  combing  her  hair,  then  Baldwin 
stepped  up  to  her,  beat  his  fore-hoof  three  times 
as  a  greeting,  and  begged  the  Wish-Lady,  pite- 
ously,  to  change  him  to  a  gander. 

The  enchantress  shook  her  head.  "  That  is  a 
strange  wish,"  she  thought,  "but  I  can  fulfil  it 
and  I  will." 

And  she  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  ass,  who 
listened  attentively :  "  Early  to-ruorrow  morning, 
at  sunrise,  pick  seven  goose-berry  blossoms  a  and 
eat  them  silently,  then  plunge  your  head  in  the 
well,  and  you  will  be  changed  to  a  fine  gander. 
And  now  go  your  way,  and  leave  me  alone." 

1  In  the  German  ganse-blume  (literally  goose-flower), 
the  ox-eyed  daisy. 


THE  ASS'S  SPRING.  137 

The  ass  thanked  her  heartily,  and  went  away. 
He  never  closed  his  eyes  all  night,  and  as  soon 
as  the  mountain-tops  began  to  grow  red,  he  was 
up  on  his  feet  and  away  to  look  for  the  seven 
goose-berry  blossoms.  Then  he  hurried  to  the 
spring,  and  plunged  his  head  in,  and  when  he 
drew  it  out  again,  to  his  delight,  he  saw  in  the 
mirror  of  the  water  the  picture  of  a  handsome 
gander  with  a  beautifully  curved  neck. 

As  fast  as  he  could  go,  he  hurried  to  the 
thicket  where  the  goose  had  taken  up  her  abode. 
"  Alheid,  my  beloved  Alheid !  "  he  cried,  "  where 
art  thou?" 

"  Here,  my  dearest,  sounded  from  the  thicket, 
and  a  pretty  little  she-ass  came  dancing  out  of 
the  bushes. 

The  lovers  looked  at  each  other,  dumb  with 
amazement. 

"  Oh,  what  an  ass  I  am ! "  sighed  the  gander. 

"  Oh,  what  a  goose  I  am ! "  groaned  the   ass. 

Then  a  hot  torrent  of  tears  poured  from  their 
eyes;  and  in  the  midst  of  her  weeping  Alheid 
told  how  she  had  followed  the  advice  of  the  owl, 
and  sought  the  Wish-Lady,  who  had  granted  her 
request,  and  changed  her  to  a  jenny.  Hereupon 
the  gander,  between  heavy  sobs,  gave  his  experi- 


138  THE  ASS'S  SPRING. 

ence,  and  the  Midsummer  sun  never  shone  on 
two  more  wretched  creatures  than  our  two  lovers. 

Time  heals  all  things.  Calm  endurance  took 
the  place  of  uncontrollable  anguish.  One  hope 
was  left  to  the  pair.  Perhaps  the  Wish-Lady,  on 
her  next  visit  to  the  spring,  would  restore  one 
of  the  lovers  to  the  original  form.  But  before 
that  a  whole  year  must  pass.  Patience,  then, 
patience!  So  Baldwin  and  Alheid  again  lived 
together  like  brother  and  sister. 

After  much  distress  and  danger,  which  the 
winter  brought  to  the  two  anchorites,  spring  ap- 
peared in  the  land;  the  sun  mounted  higher 
and  higher,  and  at  last  Midsummer  eve  had 
come. 

With  beating  hearts  the  lovers  this  time  went 
together  to  the  well,  and  stated  their  case  to  the 
Wish-Lady. 

"This  is  a  bad  affair,"  said  the  enchantress. 
"I  cannot  change  either  of  you  back  again, 
however  willing  I  may  be  to  grant  you  the 
favor.  But  I  will  make  you  a  proposition.  How 
would  it  do  if  you  became  human  beings  ?  Out 
of  an  ass  and  a  goose  it  would  not  be  difficult 
to  make  a  youth  and  a  maiden :  that  I  can  do. 
Would  that  please  you?" 


THE  ASS'S  SPRING.  139 

"Yes,"  cried  Baldwin  and  Alheid  with  one 
voice. 

The  Wish-Lady  murmured  a  charm,  and  told 
them  both  to  plunge  their  heads  in  the  well. 
They  obeyed,  and  when  they  took  them  out 
again  Baldwin  had  became  a  sturdy  young  man 
with  an  extremely  good-natured  face,  and  oppo- 
site him  stood  a  charming  little  woman  with  a 
prettily  arched,  rosy  mouth,  and  languishing  eyes. 

And  they  fell  down  at  the  Wish-Lady's  feet 
and  gratefully  kissed  her  hands,  and  then  they 
kissed  each  others'  lips  and  whispered  words  of 
love  in  each  others'  ears.  But  the  Wish-Lady,  no- 
ticing that  her  presence  was  superfluous,  wrapped 
herself  in  her  dress  of  feathers  and  flew  away. 

The  two  young  people  remained  in  the  mead- 
ow valley.  Baldwin  built  a  house,  and  in  it 
they  passed  a  happy  life ;  and  each  year  a  little 
child  was  given  them,  sometimes  a  boy  and  some- 
times a  girl. 

In  the  neighboring  villages  nobody  suspected, 
that  Baldwin  had  been  an  ass,  and  Alheid  a 
goose,  for  they  were  as  sensible  as  other  human 
beings.  They  did  not  make  a  great  noise 
about  the  history  of  their  transformation,  as  it 
would  have  prejudiced  them  in  the  eyes  of  the 


140  THE  ASS'S  SPRING. 

people.  But  when  they  were  about  to  die  they 
intrusted  it  as  a  secret  to  their  eldest  son,  and 
it  was  he  who  named  the  house  "  The  Golden 
Goose,"  and  the  spring  "  The  Ass's  Well,"  as 
they  are  still  called  at  the  present  day. 

How  the  healing  power  of  the  waters  was  dis- 
covered, and  how  life  gradually  carne  to  the 
remote  forest  valley,  are  very  fully  described 
in  a  book  which  the  landlady  sells  to  the  guests 
who  use  the  waters. 

The  Wish-Lady  has  for  a  long  time  stayed 
away,  probably  because  it  is  too  noisy  for  her 
in  the  valley.  But  even  at  the  present  time  it 
happens  that  almost  every  year  some  young  pair 
is  seen  at  the  spring,  who  seem  as  well  adapted 
to  each  other  as  the  heroes  of  our  story. 


THE  TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 


n^HIS  is  what  happens  when  one  spends  his 
whole  summer  spinning  yarns  and  meddles 
with  kobolds,  nixies,  and  beasts  that  talk. 

A  sedate  man  who  restrains  his  fancy  judi- 
ciously could  never  have  met  with  the  adventure 
which  I  experienced  the  other  day,  and  will  relate 
as  follows :  — 

I  had  returned  to  the  city  from  my  summer 
vacation,  and  had  already  spent  two  or  three  days 
wandering  about  the  streets  in  search  of  a  dwell- 
ing-place suited  to  my  needs.  For  urgent  reasons 
I  did  not  make  the  most  splendid  quarter  the 
province  of  my  research,  but  that  part  of  the  city 
in  whose  narrow  alleys  the  so-called  poor  people 
fight  the  battle  of  existence.  Why  the  street  in 
which  I  at  last  found  what  I  was  looking  for 
was  called  Heaven's  Gate  I  have  not  been  able 
to  discover.  Towards  the  east  it  ran  into  Butcher 
Street,  where  bloody  calves  and  pale  pigs  hung 


142        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

from  iron  hooks,  and  towards  the  west  the  Gate 
led  into  the  so-called  Jews'  Square,  which  was  no 
paradise  either. 

My  attention  was  drawn  to  a  little  pasteboard 
card  fastened  to  an  arched  door  which  was 
painted  green.  "  Furnished  room  in  the  fourth 
story,  to  let  to  a  single  gentleman,"  it  said.  I 
looked  at  the  house.  It  had  been  freshly  painted ; 
and  behind  the  windows  could  be  seen  white  cur- 
tains and  red  pinks.  The  door  was  decorated 
with  two  brass  lions'  heads,  which  looked  as 
amiable  as  two  serene  poodles ;  and  above  the  door 
the  metal  number  of  the  house  —  9  —  the  number 
of  the  muses,  —  greeted  my  eyes.  I  rang  the  bell. 

An  elderly  woman,  neatly  attired,  opened  the 
door,  asked  courteously  what  I  wished,  and  when  I 
had  told  her  my  errand,  took  me  up  four  dark  and 
rather  steep  flights  of  stairs  to  inspect  the  room 
which  was  to  let.  Having  reached  the  top,  she 
opened  the  door  and  let  me  step  into  the  room. 
It  was  what  I  needed,  —  a  small  room,  clean  and 
airy,  and  high  above  the  dampness  and  noise  of 
the  street,  with  an  outlook  on  a  maze  of  roofs, 
over  which  wandered  a  variety  of  cats  with  their 
elegant  gait ;  above,  the  gleaming  chimney  swal- 
lows sailed  through  the  blue  air,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance was  the  reticulated  spire  of  the  cathedral. 


THE   TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       143 

The  rent  was  soon  agreed  upon,  and  through 
our  mutual  representations  I  learned  that  my 
present  landlady  herself  was  no  less  than  the 
owner  of  the  house,  and  the  wife  of  a  shoemaker, 
who  worked  on  the  first  floor.  I  took  my  luggage 
from  the  hotel,  and  an  hour  later  I  was  on  the 
point  of  settling  myself  comfortably  in  my  new 
quarters.  My  effects  were  soon  unpacked  and 
disposed  of.  The  one  table  which  the  room  con- 
tained was  appropriated  as  a  writing-desk  and 
placed  near  the  window.  The  inkstand  was 
freshly  filled,  and  everything  was  in  order. 

"Now,  Lady  Muse,  you  may  pay  me  a  visit 
as  soon  as  you  wish ! "  I  cried  out.  Then  the 
door  opened ;  but  it  was  not  the  muse  who  entered, 
but  the  lady  of  the  house. 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  it,"  she  said,  laughing, 
and  held  the  latch-key  towards  me.  She  wiped 
it  carefully  on  her  apron,  although  it  was  of 
polished  steel,  looked  at  it  almost  tenderly,  and 
handed  it  to  me.  "If  it  could  talk!"  she  added, 
and  then  I  was  alone  with  the  latch-key. 

It  was  a  strong  old  fellow.  But  no !  that  is 
not  the  proper  expression ;  it  had  rather  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  worthy  patriarch ;  its  ward  was 
carefully  hollowed  out,  and  the  handle  was  so 


144        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

large  that  one  could  put  his  whole  hand  through 
it.  I  allotted  the  key  its  place  on  a  nail,  and 
sat  down  to  write,  to  inform  those  persons  who 
took  an  interest  in  me  of  my  present  place  of 
abode. 

A  week  later  I  was,  so  to  speak,  in  the  traces; 
toy  day's  work  was  laid  out.  The  morning  I 
spent  at  the  city  library,  the  larger  part  of  the 
rest  of  the  day  in  my  watch-tower  at  No.  9  Hea- 
ven's Gate.  I  should  have  liked  to  pass  my 
evenings  at  the  Green  Hedgehog,  where,  ac- 
cording to  the  report  of  several  reliable  gentle- 
men, whose  acquaintance  I  had  made,  an  excel- 
lent native  wine  was  on  draught;  but  the  cruelly 
low  state  of  my  finances  confined  me  to  my  tea- 
urn,  which  my  landlady  filled  with  water  every 
evening,  and  kept  very  bright  and  clean. 

The  first  of  the  next  month  brought  me  a 
modest  income ;  and,  as  soon  as  it  grew  dark,  I 
took  the  house-key  with  me,  and  with  a  look 
of  disdain  at  the  tea-urn  left  the  house  to  seek 
the  Green  Hedgehog.  The  wine  was  really  not 
bad,  and  the  conversation  as  good  as  it  can  be 
only  in  a  circle  of  young  men  who  are  trying 
to  forget  in  a  strong  drink  the  burden  and  care 
of  the  day,  and  the  rebuke  of  the  night  before. 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       145 

I  came  home  in  high  spirits,  and  rather  late, 
and  considering  my  cheerful  frame  of  mind,  no- 
body would  think  it  strange  that  while  I  was 
undressing  I  sang  the  old  student's  song: 

"At  my  lodgings  I've  studied  the  whole  forenoon." 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
a  deep  bass  voice  joined  in  my  song,  and  when 
I  looked  around  in  alarm,  I  saw  to  my  greatest 
amazement  that  my  house-key  was  swinging  on 
its  nail  like  a  pendulum,  and  I  distinctly  heard 
it  humming,  "I'll  not  stir  an  inch  from  this 
place  till  the  watchman  cries  twelve  in  my  face.  — 
Juvivallerala ! " 

I  stood  still  in  astonishment.  Nothing  like 
it  had  ever  happened  to  me  before. 

"House-key,  old  fellow,"  I  cried,  "what  is  the 
matter  with  you?" 

"I  have  no  objection,"  answered  the  house- 
key,  "to  your  familiarity,  although  you  are  only 
a  lodger,  and  not  the  owner  of  the  house;  but 
if  you  address  me  so,  then  you  must  allow  me 
the  same  privilege." 

"Willingly;  but  tell  rne  first  of  all  —  " 

"  How  I  came  to  have  the  power  of  speech  ? 
That  I  will  tell  you  by  and  by,  for  I  hope  we 
shall  be  together  a  long  time  yet.  So  in  the 


146        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE- KEY. 

mean  time  accept  the  fact  as  it  is  and  do  not 
rack  your  brains  unnecessarily  about  it.  In  the 
next  place,  accept  my  thanks  for  having  taken 
me  with  you  to  the  tavern.  You  cannot  believe 
how  much  good  it  does  an  old  house-key,  who 
has  not  crossed  his  own  threshold  for  a  whole 
year,  to  breathe  once  more  the  air  of  an  inn." 

Here  the  key  began  to  swing  like  a  pendulum 
again,  and  hummed  at  the  same  time,  "  Straight 
from  the  tavern  I  am  coming." 

I  could  not  yet  become  accustomed  to  the 
miracle,  and  for  the  sake  of  saying  something, 
I  said,  "You  seem  to  be  well  versed  in  drinking- 
songs." 

"So  I  think,"  answered  the  key.  "Shall  I 
perhaps  sing  you  a  'Gaudeamus  igitur,'  or,  'The 
professor  gives  no  lecture  to-day  '  ?  " 

"  Let  it  be  till  another  time.  Singing  might 
wake  up  the  neighbors." 

"  Very  well,"  continued  the  talkative  house- 
key,  "then  we  will  chat  together.  You  are  not 
sleepy  yet?  Shall  I  tell  you  to  whom  I  am  in- 
debted for  all  my  merry  drinking-songs  ?  Oh, 
those  were  fine  times !  " 

The  house-key  paused  as  if  he  were  rumma- 
ging in  the  bottom  of  his  memory. 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       147 

"I  propose,"  he  then  continued,  "that  you 
lie  down  and  put  out  the  light.  I  can  tell  the 
story  better  in  the  dark." 

And  I  did  as  he  wished. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  handsomer  youth,"  be- 
gan the  narrator,  "than  the  one  I  am  now  going 
to  tell  you  about.  Everybody  liked  him,  and  so 
did  I,  although  through  him  I  have  often  been 
placed  in  a  very  awkward  position.  At  that 
time  he  was  a  boy  of  about  ten  years,  and  looked 
roguishly  out  of  a  pair  of  large  brown  eyes.  I 
was  in  the  service  of  his  parents,  but  had  not 
yet  come  in  contact  with  the  merry  Willie.  So  I 
was  all  the  more  delighted  when  the  little  fellow 
took  me  down  one  day  from  the  nail,  put  me 
in  his  pocket  and  carried  me  out-doors.  When 
we  reached  the  city  park  he  took  me  out  and 
showed  me  to  some  boys  who  were  his  play- 
fellows. The  oldest  one  turned  me  over  and  over, 
looked  into  my  mouth,  and  pronounced  me  fit  to  be 
used.  For  what  purpose  I  learned  soon  enough. 
The  boy  took  a  file  out  of  his  pocket  and  began 
to  rasp  me,  so  that  sight  and  hearing  left  me. 
When  he  had  made  a  deep  wound  in  me,  he 
poured  a  black  powder  inside  me  and  placed  a 
wad  of  paper  on  top." 


148        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

"Aha!"  said  I,  interrupting  the  narrator,  "so 
you  became  a  key-pistol." 

"Yes,  a  key-pistol.  I,  the  house-key  of  house 
No.  9  Heaven's  Gate.  But,  — 

His  days  indeed  are  wisely  spent, 
Who  with  his  station  is  content ; 

and  I  determined  to  do  honor  to  mine.  Without 
trembling  I  awaited  the  burning  slow-match,  and 
—  crack! — flew  the  charge  out  of  my  mouth,  so 
that  the  sparrows  in  the  park  flew  off,  seized  with 
sudden  fright. 

"  The  crowd  of  boys  too  fled  in  alarm,  but  the 
cause  of  their  sudden  fright  was  not  myself,  but 
a  man,  who  wore  a  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons, 
and  on  his  white  belt  a  sword.  Unnoticed  he  had 
emerged  from  behind  the  elder-bushes,  and  with 
the  cry,  '  I've  got  you,  you  rascals  ! '  he  made  a 
dash  at  the  boys.  To  be  sure,  he  didn't  get  near 
them,  for  they  had  already  reached  a  place  of 
safety,  but  I,  the  innocent  one,  was  seized  and 
taken  away. 

"  '  Farewell,  No.  9  Heaven's  Gate,'  I  sighed ;  and 
in  my  mind  I  already  saw  myself  amongst  old 
iron,  in  the  company  of  bent  nails  and  rusty  stove- 
doors.  But  it  was  to  be  otherwise.  As  soon  as 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       149 

Willie's  father  missed  me,  he  began  to  search  for 
me  everywhere,  and  the  one  who  alone  could  give 
information  of  my  whereabouts  judiciously  held 
his  peace ;  so  the  anxious  man,  fearing  that  I 
might  have  been  taken  for  criminal  purposes, 
immediately  went  to  the  police,  to  report  the 
case. 

"The  joy  which  I  felt  when  the  police  officer, 
with  a  mild  smile,  asked  my  master  if  I  were  the 
missing  key,  and  the  face  Willie's  father  made 
when  he  learned  how  I  had  come  into  the  hands 
of  the  police,  I  am  unable  to  describe  in  words.  I 
was  returned  to  my  rightful  owner,  and  carried 
home  in  his  coat  pocket,  after  he  had  paid  a 
dollar  as  a  fine  for  forbidden  shooting  within  the 
city  limits.  The  unpleasant  scene  between  father 
and  son,  which  concluded  the  adventure,  I  will 
pass  over  in  silence.  The  wound  which  the  boys 
gave  me,  when  they  made  a  key-pistol  out  of  me, 
was  healed  by  a  locksmith.  If  you  examine  me 
carefully  to-morrow,  you  will  detect,  an  inch  above 
my  handle,  a  reddish  scar.  I  am  not  ashamed  of 
it." 

The  house-key  paused  a  moment,  as  if  to  get 
his  breath,  and  then  continued :  — 

"My  friend  Willie  now  seemed  to  avoid  me 


150        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

studiously.  At  first,  after  the  occurrence  I  have 
just  told  you  of,  he  looked  at  me  slyly,  and  then 
he  ceased  to  look  at  me  at  all.  Thus  passed 
several  years.  Willie  had  become  a  handsome, 
slender  youth,  and  his  mother  told  him  so  every 
day.  He  already  had  a  tobacco-pipe  with  bright- 
colored  tassels,  and  he  filled  it  from  his  father's 
tobacco  pouch  when  his  father's  back  was  turned. 
Sometimes  he  came  home  late  in  the  evening  with 
a  heated  brain,  and  then  his  father  would  scold, 
and  his  mother  had  great  difficulty  in  defending 
her  son. 

"  One  evening  Willie  stayed  out  excessively  late, 
and  his  father  stormed  worse  than  ever.  '  I'll  let 
the  young  scapegrace  see  how  he  gets  into  the 
house,'  said  he,  finally,  in  great  anger,  and  he 
locked  the  front  door  himself,  laid  me  under  his 
pillow,  and  went  to  sleep.  But  his  mother  was 
awake.  She  cautiously  drew  me  out  from  beneath 
the  bolster,  and  tied  me  up  carefully  in  a  handker- 
chief. Then  she  placed  herself  by  the  window  to 
wait,  and  when  about  midnight  Willie  came  creep- 
ing along,  she  dropped  me  down  on  the  street. 
Her  son  seized  me,  and  after  fumbling  about  some 
time  for  the  key-hole,  opened  the  door,  and  when 
he  had  given  me  back  to  his  anxious  mother, 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       151 

groped  his  way  along  to  his  chamber.  How  his 
father  was  pacified  the  next  morning  I  do  not 
remember. 

"  Again  some  time  passed  by,  and  then  came 
a  festal  day.  The  father  himself  gave  me  over 
to  his  son,  —  who  was  now  called  a  student  and 
wore  a  red  cap,  —  and  made  a  long  speech,  which 
he  ended  by  saying  that  Willie  must  always  show 
himself  worthy  of  me.  The  son  thanked  him 
with  emotion  and  received  me  with  beaming  eyes. 
I  once  heard  that  the  king  bestows  golden  keys 
upon  people  of  high  rank,  and  that  this  is  a  great 
honor ;  but  I  can  hardly  believe  that  one  of  them 
ever  experienced  so  great  joy  at  this  distinction 
as  my  Willie  felt  when  he  put  me  in  his  pocket. 

"The  day  when  the  key  was  given  over  was 
followed  by  the  merriest  night  which  I  ever 
spent,  and  it  will  live  in  my  memory  till  I  have 
crumbled  away  to  rust.  He  who  was  now  my 
owner  carried  me  to  the  rooms  of  the  club  of  which 
he  was  to  become  a  member.  Ah,  then  there 
was  a  high  old  time !  Gay  carousers  with  bright- 
colored  caps  and  belts,  waiting-maids  with  white 
aprons  and  black  eyes,  full  mugs  and  drinking- 
horns,  shining  rapiers,  merry  songs,  jollity  and 
noise  till  morning  light." 


152        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

"  I  know  all  about  that,  house-key.  I  know  all 
about  that." 

"  The  merriest  of  them  all  was  my  Willie.  He 
was  so  delighted  at  having  possession  of  me  that 
he  gave  his  companions  a  keg  of  the  best  beer; 
and  the  knowledge  that,  as  owner  of  a  house- 
key,  he  was  admitted  to  the  circle  of  free  and 
independent  men,  made  him  very  bold  towards 
the  brown-haired  Toni.  When  Willie  reached 
Heaven's  Gate  the  sun  was  already  up,  and  the 
door  of  house  No.  9  had  just  been  unfastened. 
The  first  time  that  I  was  at  Willie's  disposal  he 
had  no  need  of  me. 

"Now  began  the  merriest  time  of  my  life. 
Many  similar  evenings  followed  this  first  one  like 
the  beads  of  a  rosary.  In  the  mean  time  there 
were  drives,  torchlight  processions,  drinking-par- 
ties,  and  many  merry  college  tricks;  and  I  was 
always  present,  for  the  advice  of  the  philosopher, 

The  crafty  tippler  his  house-key  takes 
At  early  morn  when  he  awakes, 

was  wisely  followed  by  my  master.  Moreover, 
that  as  academical  house-key  I  did  not  let  the 
time  pass  unemployed  I  have  already  given  you 
proof. 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       153 

"Under  the  circumstances,  my  share  in  the 
events  of  my  master's  life  was  a  passive  one.  Oh, 
if  I  had  never  left  the  roll  of  a  spectator !  That 
unfortunate  moment  when  I  became  active  in  the 
course  of  events  was  the  cause  of  everlasting 
separation  from  my  Willie.  I  will  be  brief,  for 
the  pain  of  recollection  forbids  me  any  flowers  of 
speech.  Besides,  it  is  late  in  the  night,  and  you 
will  want  to  go  to  sleep. 

"My  friend  Willie  had  gone  with  his  companions 
to  a  village,  and  there  the  young  men  were  having 
a  good  time  over  their  glasses,  laughing,  shouting, 
and  singing.  But  not  far  from  the  table  where 
the  students  were  drinking,  a  crowd  of  journey- 
men mechanics,  rough,  but  strong  men,  had  sat 
down. 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  now  as  it  was  then. 
At  that  time,  whenever  students  and  mechanics, 
whom  we  collegians  called  '  snags,'  met,  they  began 
to  banter  each  other.  But  this  time  it  soon  grew 
into  a  quarrel,  and  it  was  my  master  who,  by  sing- 
ing the  song,  '  God  bless  you,  brother  bristler,' 
commenced  hostilities.  At  first,  insulting  words 
passed  back  and  forth ;  later  on,  beer  mugs,  and 
other  things  that  happened  to  be  at  hand;  and 
when  these  missiles  gave  out,  they  seized  sticks 


154        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

and  the  legs  of  chairs.  How  the  unlucky  thought 
of  using  me  as  a  weapon  came  into  my  owner's  head, 
I  do  not  know ;  I  only  know  that  I  did  great  mis- 
chief in  the  young  fellow's  hand.  But  let  us  draw 
the  curtain  over  this  unprofitable  scene. 

"  After  that  day  I  found  myself  once  more  in 
the  hands  of  justice,  and  had  a  fine  Latin  name 
given  to  me,  which  has  escaped  my  memory." 

"Probably  it  was  corpus  delicti,  was  it  not?" 

"  Quite  right ! "  cried  the  house-key  with  de- 
light. "  As  corpus  delicti  I  was  put  with  the 
reports,  but  my  poor  young  friend  sat  in  a  narrow 
room,  whose  doors  were  bolted  outside  and  the 
windows  furnished  with  iron  gratings.  People 
call  it  a  prison." 

"I  know  all  about  that,  too,  house-key. 

"  So  much  the  better,  as  it  will  save  me  from 
going  into  details.  But  give  me  your  attention  a 
few  minutes  longer.  I  am  almost  at  the  end.  The 
affair  in  which  we  were  concerned  turned  out 
very  badly.  Willie  was  expelled ;  and  when  he 
had  paid  his  fine,  left  the  city.  To  be  sure,  I 
went  back  to  my  home ;  but  my  merry  life  was 
all  over.  Sad  at  heart,  I  spent  my  days  on  a  nail 
in  a  dark  corner;  and  what  I  learned  from  time 
to  time  about  my  darling  from  his  parents'  con- 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       155 

versation  did  not  help  to  lessen  my  sadness. 
Trouble  gnawed  at  the  hearts  of  the  two  old 
people  and  rust  gnawed  at  mine.  It  was  a  lucky 
day  for  me  that  a  change  soon  took  place  in  my 
circumstances.  Willie's  parents  sold  the  house  — 
it  was  said,  to  pay  their  son's  debts  —  and  I  passed 
into  other  hands,  —  hands  which  cleaned  away 
the  rust  from  me,  and  by  repeated  oilings  restored 
my  lost  virtues. 

"  I  have  never  heard  a  word  about  Willie's  par- 
ents ;  but  himself  I  have  seen  once  since  then, 
and  this  meeting  I  will  tell  you  about  to-morrow. 
For  the  present,  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  house-key  1 " 

On  the  following  morning,  when  I  awoke 
somewhat  later  than  usual,  my  house-key  was 
hanging  silently  on  its  nail,  and  to  my  faint- 
hearted "good  morning"  gave  no  reply.  "Prob- 
ably," I  thought,  "  he  speaks  only  at  midnight ;  or, 
still  more  probably,  it  was  all  a  dream."  The 
last  supposition  seemed  to  me  more  and  more 
likely,  in  proportion  as  sleep  left  my  limbs. 
"  How  can  one  dream  such  foolish  stuff ! "  I 
said  to  myself ;  "  the  home-made  wine  and  the 
gay  conversation  of  last  evening  were  to  blame 
for  it."  I  dressed  myself  and  went  to  my  daily 


156        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

work,  -which,   like  yesterday,   I  crowned  with   a 
visit  to  the  Green  Hedgehog. 

"  Now  we  shall  soon  see  whether  I  was  dream- 
ing or  not,"  I  said,  as  I  returned  to  my  room 
towards  midnight.  "  How  are  you,  old  house- 
key  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  for  the  kind  inquiry ;  very  well," 
sounded  the  answer.  "  I  am  always  feeling 
well  when  I  have  breathed  the  fragrance  of 
wine." 

So  it  was  a  fact,  and  no  dream.  I  opened 
the  window  and  put  my  head  out.  A  falling 
star  made  a  bright  arch  in  the  sky,  and  across 
from  the  cathedral  sounded  the  striking  of 
bells.  I  pulled  my  ear.  No,  I  was  not  dream- 
ing. I  really  possessed  a  talking  house-key. 

"May  I  talk  with  you  again  a  little  while?" 
he  asked  courteously. 

"Nothing  would  please  me  better,"  I  replied, 
politely  put  out  the  light,  and  stretched  myself 
at  full  length  on  my  bed. 

"About  two  years  after  the  event  I  last  de- 
scribed," began  the  key,  "  I  was  in  the  service 
of  a  man  who  had  this  very  room  which  you 
now  occupy,  and  who,  like  you,  lived  by  writing. 
He  was  not  very  old  then,  but  his  thin  hair 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       157 

was  already  turning  gray,  and  gray  was  also 
the  color  of  his  wrinkled  face.  It  seemed  to  be 
his  favorite  color,  for  he  usually  wore  gray 
clothes  too,  and  even  gray  spectacles;  gray  dust 
lay  on  his  books,  and  gray  ink  flowed  from  his  pen 
on  grayish  paper. 

"This  man  possessed  the  faculty  of  seeing  the 
imperfections  of  anything  at  the  first  glance. 
When  he  took  me  for  the  first  time  in  his  hand 
he  immediately  spied  the  scar  which  I  carry  as 
a  remembrance  of  the  time  when  I  served  as  a 
key-pistol.  'Patched!'  he  said,  with  a  spiteful 
laugh,  and  pushed  me  away  from  him.  When 
the  morning  sun  looked  in  at  the  window  to 
greet  him,  he  spoke  of  sun-spots ;  when  the  moon 
rose  in  the  evening  above  the  gabled  roof,  he 
would  say,  '  She  has  neither  air  nor  water ' ;  and 
if  he  went  out  into  the  park  in  May-time,  he 
did  not  see  the  young  leaves  and  the  white  blos- 
soms, but  only  the  caterpillars  on  them. 

"  There  was  a  good  reason  for  the  gray  man's 
bitter  manners.  He  had  made  a  compact  with 
Gallus,  the  ink-devil,  who  all  day  long  sat  in  a 
great  dust-covered  inkstand  and  came  out  at 
night  to  squat  on  the  paper-weight  and  help 
his  master  write.  But  the  suggestions  of  a 


158        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

wicked  ink-devil  are  not  as  sweet  as  honey. 
The  gray  man  was  a  so-called  critic.  Do  you 
know  what  that  is?" 

"  I  know  what  it  is ;  go  on,  house-key,  go 
on!" 

"My  owner  seldom  made  use  of  me.  The 
crabbed  man  never  went  into  gay  company, 
therefore  he  often  visited  the  theatre,  and  then 
he  took  me  with  him,  so  I  am  under  some 
obligation  to  him  for  enlarging  my  knowledge. 
To  be  sure,  he  seldom  remained  long,  but  usually 
left  the  house  soon  after  the  first  act,  which  in 
no  way  prevented  him  from  criticising  the  rest. 

"  One  evening  he  took  me  —  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
with  an  uncanny  laugh  —  from  the  nail,  examined 
my  mouth,  put  me  in  his  pocket,  and  went  out 
of  the  house.  By  the  direction  which  we  took, 
and  the  length  of  the  way,  I  concluded  that  the 
gray  man  was  going  to  a  theatre  in  the  suburbs ; 
and  so  he  was.  He  went  in  and  took  a  seat.  They 
were  tuning  the  instruments  in  the  orchestra ;  the 
doors  of  the  boxes  slammed;  a  humming  sound 
gave  reason  to  conclude  that  the  house  was  fill- 
ing up ;  the  music  began ;  the  curtain  rose,  and 
the  play  commenced.  I  could  only  follow  it  in- 
telligently with  my  ears,  for  my  seat  was  in 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       159 

my  master's  dark  coat  pocket,  and  the  opera 
glass,  which  repelled  all  my  attempts  to  get 
nearer  with  haughty  silence,  was  often  the  ob- 
ject of  my  envy.  To-day  the  play  was  to  be  a 
play  for  me  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  for 
my  master  took  me  out  of  my  dark  dungeon 
and  allowed  me  a  look  at  the  audience  and  the 
stage. 

"  Saint  Florian !  what  did  I  see  !  On  the  front 
of  the  stage,  near  the  lights,  stood  a  slender  young 
man,  in  picturesque  costume,  and  with  very  red 
cheeks  and  coal-black,  artificial  curls.  It  was 
Willie,  my  own  never-to-be-forgotten  Willie.  Now 
he  ran  both  hands  through  his  hair,  rolled  his 
eyes  like  two  fire-wheels,  and  cried :  '  Wretches  1 
wretches !  false,  hypocritical  crocodiles !  Your 
eyes  are  water  —  your  hearts  brass  1  Kisses  on 
your  lips  —  swords  in  your  bosoms ! ' 

"Then  the  gray  man  put  me  to  his  lower  lip, 
and  drew  from  me  the  shrillest  sound,  which  went 
to  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  And  as  if  the  whistle 
which  shrieked  through  the  house  had  been  a 
preconcerted  sign,  there  arose  all  at  once  such  a 
fiendish  uproar  as  I  never  heard  before.  There 
was  whistling,  hissing,  stamping  of  feet,  thump- 
ing of  canes,  laughing,  and  screaming,  till  the 


160        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

walls  and  ceiling  shook.  I  saw  my  old  friend 
stagger  and  beat  his  forehead  with  his  doubled 
fist.  Then  the  curtain  fell.  It  was  the  last 
time  that  I  ever  saw  my  poor  Willie.  And  I 
have  never  been  able  to  learn  what  became  of 
him.  Good  night." 

"Good  night,  old  fellow." 

Man  can  accustom  himself  to  anything,  even 
to  a  talking  key.  On  the  following  evening  it 
seemed  quite  natural  to  expect  a  little  gossip 
from  the  house-key  before  going  to  sleep,  and 
my  friend  did  not  keep  me  waiting  long. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  began,  "  that  this  after- 
noon, instead  of  remaining  at  your  work,  you 
spent  two  hours  looking  out  the  window  ? " 

"Was  it  really  two  hours,  house-key?  Well, 
you  see,  I  was  tired  of  working;  besides,  the  close- 
ness of  the  room  and  the  fresh  air  outside  — " 

"  And  the  little  seamstress  in  the  attic  room 
across  the  way,"  interrupted  the  house-key;  "well, 
well,  don't  be  angry.  I  am  not  going  to  preach 
you  a  sermon.  You  are  old  enough  to  know 
what  to  do  and  what  not  to  do.  But  the  sight 
of  the  neat,  flaxen-haired  person,  plying  her  needle 
so  industriously,  brought  to  my  mind  an  old  story, 
which  I  would  like  to  tell  you." 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       161 

"Let  me  hear  it,"  I  implored,  and  the  house- 
key  began : — 

"Years  ago  there  lived  in  this  house  a  seam- 
stress, who  was  not  unlike  your  opposite  neigh- 
bor. She  was  a  very  young  thing,  and  as  pretty 
as  a  picture ;  besides,  she  was  as  busy  as  a  bee, 
and  merry  as  a  crested  lark  in  May.  And  she 
sang  like  a  lark  while  at  her  work,  and  lovely 
songs,  such  as,  for  example,  'Enjoy  life  while 
the  light  is  still  burning,'  'Three  knights  came 
riding  through  the  gate,'  and  '  Early  in  the  morn 
a  little  maid  arose.'  Altogether,  it  was  rather 
noisy  in  the  house  at  that  time,  for,  besides  little 
Lizzie,  there  were  half  a  dozen  other  seamstresses, 
fair-haired  and  dark,  good  and  bad.  They  were 
employed  by  a  large  woman  with  false  curls  and 
a  well-oiled  tongue  that  went  all  day  like  a  mill- 
clapper. 

"  The  poor  things  had  to  work  busily,  for  their 
employer  kept  a  sharp  watch  over  their  fingers. 
But  she  did  not  treat  the  young  people  altogether 
badly,  and  what  at  first  struck  me  as  strange 
was  the  strictness  with  which  she  watched  over 
the  young  girls'  conduct.  Indeed,  evil  tongues 
were  of  the  opinion  that  this  happened  more 
from  jealousy  than  from  motherly  anxiety,  and 
at  last  I  almost  came  to  think  so  too. 


162        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

"At  that  time,  just  as  now,  there  was  a  shoe- 
maker's shop  on  the  ground  floor;  and  I  soon 
found  out  that  the  brown-haired  foreman  had  his 
eye  on  little  Lizzie.  In  spite  of  all  madam's 
watchfulness,  it  occasionally  happened  that  the 
two  young  people  met  on  the  steps.  At  such 
times  the  shoemaker  usually  said :  '  Fine  weather 
to-day,  little  miss ' ;  and  Lizzie  would  reply,  '  Yes, 
very  fine  weather ' ;  and  then  she  would  slip 
quickly  past  him  like  a  shrew-mouse.  My  place 
was  then  on  a  nail  out  in  the  hall,  and  thus  it 
happened  that  I  could  overlook  the  doorsteps. 
One  morning  —  it  was  Lizzie's  birthday  —  I  saw 
the  shoemaker  creep  up  the  stairs  in  the  early 
dawn,  before  anybody  was  awake,  and  lay  some- 
thing gently  on  the  floor  before  the  young  girl's 
door.  People  in  love  are  wont  to  leave  flowers 
at  such  a  time.  But  the  foreman's  gift  was  not 
of  that  kind,  but  a  pair  of  dainty,  high-heeled 
shoes  of  polished  leather,  of  which  a  princess  might 
have  been  proud.  Fortunately,  the  little  maiden 
discovered  them  in  safety  before  anybody  else  had 
seen  them.  How  delighted  she  was!  The  shoes 
fitted  perfectly,  and  the  shoemaker  had  never 
taken  her  measure." 

Here  the  house-key  paused,  and  I  concluded 
that  he  had  reached  a  change  in  affairs. 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       163 

"  A  short  time  after,"  the  key  went  on  to  say, 
"the  stout  woman  who  employed  the  seamstresses 
received  a  visit  from  a  young  man  of  distinguished 
bearing,  who  ordered  a  large  quantity  of  fine 
linen.  The  visit  was  repeated  a  day  or  two  later, 
and  then  oftener,  and  I  soon  knew  that  the  young 
count,  for  such  he  was,  came  to  the  house  on 
account  of  little  Lizzie.  Probably  he  had  made 
her  acquaintance  sometime  when  she  was  out 
for  a  walk,  for  I  noticed  particularly  that  she 
already  knew  him,  I  discovered  too,  to  my  dis- 
appointment, that  she  was  not  indifferent  to  him ; 
and  what  disturbed  me  most  was  the  fact  that 
the  madam  this  time  seemed  to  be  blind. 

"  But  the  shoemaker  on  the  ground  floor  was 
not  blind.  Whenever  the  count  entered  the 
house,  the  poor  fellow  would  hammer  away  as 
fiercely  at  his  boot-sole  as  if  he  had  his  favored 
rival  under  his  hand. 

"The  last  day  of  the  year  had  come.  On 
New  Year's  eve  the  seamstresses  were  regularly 
invited  to  take  punch  with  their  employer;  and 
so  they  were  this  time.  In  the  course  of  the 
afternoon  the  count  had  been  there,  and  had 
spoken  in  a  low  voice  with  little  Lizzie  in  the 
hall,  and  I  had  heard  their  conversation. 


164        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

"  The  evening  came,  and  soon  the  company 
were  sitting  around  the  big  bowl  of  fragrant 
drink,  and  consuming  great  mountains  of  cake. 
I,  too,  was  there,  and  was  a  person  of  no  small 
importance.  The  maidens  were  going  to  pour 
lead,  and  one  of  them  thought  that  the  melted 
metal  ought  to  be  dropped  through  a  church  key, 
to  make  the  charm  effective.  For  want  of  a 
church  key  they  had  selected  me,  and  I  think, 
myself,  without  boasting,  that  I  am  about  as 
good  as  a  church  key.  What  do  you  think?" 

"  You  are  the  most  dignified  key  I  have  ever 
met,"  I  replied. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  key,  somewhat  affected. 
"But  let  me  go  on. 

"The  lead  was  brought;  it  was  lead  from  a 
church  window.  They  melted  it  in  an  iron 
spoon,  and  then  one  after  another  poured  the 
hot  metal  through  my  ring  into  a  bowl  filled 
with  water.  This  caused  much  fun  and  laughter. 
Little  Lizzie,  too,  who  had  sat  the  whole  evening 
silent  and  absorbed,  took  the  spoon  and  poured 
the  lead.  '  A  shoemakers  chair ! '  cried  one  of 
the  maidens,  laughing.  '  No,  a  count's  crown ! ' 
said  a  second,  making  up  a  scornful  face. 

"Whereupon  another  play  was  begun,  in  which 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       165 

I  was  also  used.  They  fastened  me  to  a  thread 
and  suspended  me  in  an  empty  glass.  Then 
some  one  would  ask  a  question,  and  if  I  struck 
against  the  glass  once,  they  understood  the 
answer  to  be  yes,  and  if  more  than  once,  no. 

"  Thus  the  time  passed  till  midnight.  The 
bells  were  striking  twelve  from  the  tower;  the 
company  wished  one  another  a  Happy  New  Year, 
and  then  each  of  the  young  girls  went  to  her 
room.  In  the  midst  of  breaking  up  no  attention 
was  paid  to  me,  and  nobody  saw  that  little 
Lizzie  seized  me,  and  hid  me  in  her  pocket. 

"  When  she  reached  her  room  she  took  a  ball 
of  yarn  from  her  work-basket  and  tied  the  end 
of  it,  with  trembling  fingers,  to  my  handle.  Her 
heart  was  beating  loudly. 

" '  Wait,'  she  said  softly  to  herself ;  '  I  will  first 
ask  Fate  whether  I  ought  to  do  it  or  not.'  She 
placed  a  glass  on  the  table  and  suspended  me 
in  it  by  the  thread.  '  Yes  or  no  ? '  she  asked 
with  quivering  voice. 

"If  I  had  possessed  the  gift  of  human  speech 
then,  I  should  surely  have  made  use  of  it  to 
give  her  some  good  advice ;  but  I  had  to  see 
in  silence  what  danger  the  poor  child  was  in. 
'No,'  thought  I,  'she  must  be  warned.'  I  made 


166        THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY. 

myself  as  heavy  as  I  possibly  could,  and  —  crack 
—  crack !  —  the  thread  had  given  way,  and  the 
glass  was  broken  to  pieces. 

"  The  maiden  grew  deathly  pale,  and  shook 
from  head  to  foot.  Trembling,  she  gathered  up 
the  fragments;  then  she  knelt  down  and  prayed 
a  long,  long  time. 

"  After  that  she  was  calm.  She  put  out  the 
light  and  went  to  bed.  After  a  while  footsteps 
were  heard  in  front  of  the  house,  and  a  low 
whistle.  Lizzie  did  not  move,  but  buried  her 
little  head  in  her  pillow.  But  I  saw,  sitting  at 
the  sleeping  maiden's  head  the  whole  night  long, 
a  little  angel,  who  had  two  wings  and  carried 
a  lily  in  his  hand." 

"  That  sounds  improbable,  house-key." 

"  Improbable  ?  "  returned  the  house-key,  grieved. 
"  Is  it  not  far  more  improbable  that  a  house- 
key  should  tell  you  a  story?" 

Nothing  could  be  said  against  that,  and  I 
thought  it  advisable  to  keep  silent. 

"  It  only  remains  now  for  me  to  tell  you,"  my 
friend  continued,  "that  the  old  woman  who  lets 
this  room  to  you  is  none  other  than  the  little 
Lizzie  of  that  time,  and  that  her  husband,  the 
old,  white-haired  shoemaker,  is  the  same  one 


THE    TALKATIVE  HOUSE-KEY.       167 

•who  placed  a  pair  of  high-heeled  shoes  in  front 
of  the  little  seamstress'  door. 

"  And  to-morrow,"  the  key  went  on  to  say, 
"  when  we  return  from  the  Green  Hedgehog 
I  will  tell  you  how  I  came  by  the  ability  to 
express  myself  in  human  speech.  That  is  the 
most  wonderful  story  of  all." 

"  To-morrow,  dear  house-key,"  I  said,  with 
a  sigh,  "  we  shall  hardly  visit  the  Green  Hedge- 
hog ;  but  I  will  listen  with  pleasure  to  your 
gossip,  over  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  Over  a  cup  of  tea  ? "  asked  the  house-key, 
drawling  his  words.  "No,  my  friend,  that  would 
not  do.  Know  that  I  only  talk  when  I  have 
spent  the  evening  at  the  tavern." 

"Then  I  must  wait  patiently  till  the  first  of 
next  month,"  I  replied,  disheartened. 

The  house-key  muttered  something  I  could  not 
understand,  in  his  beard.  A  happy  thought  came 
to  me. 

"  Do  you  know  what,  old  friend ! "  I  said ;  "  I 
will,  of  course  with  your  permission,  put  the 
stories  you  have  told  me  on  paper,  and  send  the 
manuscript  to  a  man  who  prints  such  things. 
Perhaps,  next  month,  we  can  have  one  or  two 
evenings  more  at  the  Green  Hedgehog" 

"  Do  it,"  said  the  house-key. 


THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL. 


"A/TANY,  many  years  ago  there  was  a  pious 
hermit.  He  had  turned  his  back  on  the 
world,  and  had  built  a  hermitage  in  a  green 
meadow,  which  lay  in  the  midst  of  the  forest; 
and  the  peasants  of  the  neighboring  villages  and 
farms  had  helped  him  diligently  in  the  building 
and  furnishing  of  his  hut.  Next  the  hermit's 
dwelling  stood  a  chapel  with  a  doleful  Madonna; 
and  above  it,  under  a  little  roof,  hung  a  small 
bell,  which  the  solitary  man  was  accustomed  to 
ring  at  certain  hours,  and  this  was  his  most  im- 
portant work  of  the  day;  the  rest  of  the  time  he 
spent  in  prayer  and  pious  reflection.  His  thirst 
he  quenched  at  a  cool  fountain,  which  sprang  up 
out  of  the  black-wood  earth,  not  far  from  the 
hermitage;  but  he  satisfied  his  hunger  with  the 
fruit  of  the  forest  and  the  food  which  the  faith- 
ful peasant  women  brought  to  him. 

In  this  way  the  pious  man  lived  for  a  long 


THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL.  169 

succession  of  years.  Then  he  laid  himself  down 
on  his  bed  of  straw,  wrapped  himself  up  closely 
in  his  cowl,  and  died.  Many  tears  were  shed  at 
his  burial,  and  the  sobbing  women  said,  "  Such 
a  hermit  as  he  was  we  shall  never  have  again." 
And  in  this  respect  they  were  quite  right. 

It  happened  that  soon  after  the  hermit's  de- 
cease another  came,  who  established  himself  in 
the  deserted  hermitage;  and  he  pleased  the 
women  quite  well,  for  he  was  young  in  years 
and  had  a  pair  of  eyes  as  black  as  coals. 
But  the  new  hermit  was  an  eyesore  to  the 
men;  why,  it  was  never  exactly  known.  In 
short,  the  peasants  collected  together  one  day, 
seized  the  recluse,  and  conducted  him  to  the 
highway.  And  the  hermit  turned  his  back  to 
the  thankless  fellows,  and  was  seen  no  more  in 
that  region. 

From  that  time  the  hermitage  stood  desolate, 
and  only  occasionally  did  a  roving  huntsman,  or 
a  maiden  with  her  jug,  turn  their  footsteps 
towards  the  deserted  house  to  draw  refresh- 
ment from  the  well  near  by.  Brown  wood-moss 
grew  luxuriantly  on  the  thatched  roo£  of  the 
hermitage,  and  brambles  and  clematis  grew  round 
the  door  and  windows.  In  the  deceased  hermit's 


170  THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL, 

straw  bed  the  field-mice  were  rearing  their  young, 
and  in  the  chapel  the  red-tail  had  built  her  nest. 
The  forest,  with  its  creatures,  was  gradually  tak- 
ing possession  again  of  the  ground  which  man 
had  takdn  away  from  it. 

Spring  was  about  to  make  her  appearance, 
and  the  earth  was  getting  ready  for  the  Easter 
festival.  With  damp  wings  the  thawing  wind 
came  flying  across  the  sea,  shook  the  trees  and 
threw  the  fir-cones  and  dead  branches  on  the 
ground.  The  springs  and  brooks  murmured 
louder,  and  ran  more  swiftly  on  their  winding 
way.  The  tips  of  the  snowdrops  and  anemones 
peeped  stealthily  up  out  of  the  ground  in  the  woods, 
and  the  showy  laurel  put  on  its  red  silk  gown. 
Then  came  the  hoopoo  bird  with  his  bright-col- 
ored crest  and  announced  the  coming  of  the 
cuckoo.  And  the  briers  shook  off  their  last  dry 
leaves  and  stood  with  their  buds  swollen  with 
sap,  waiting  patiently  for  the  awakening  call 
of  Spring. 

The  little  bell  in  the  ruined  forest  chapel  saw 
with  sorrow  how  everything  was  preparing  for 
the  feast  of  the  Resurrection.  In  former  years, 
when  the  sound  of  the  bells  trembled  through 
the  air  at  the  happy  Easter-tide,  she,  too,  had 


THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL.  171 

lifted  her  voice  and  sung  in  the  chorus  of  the 
proud  sisters  in  the  church  towers.  But  that  time 
was  long  ago.  Since  the  old  hermit  was  buried, 
no  hand  had  pulled  the  rope  at  Easter-tide; 
silent  and  forgotten  hung  the  bell  beneath  her 
little  roof,  and  for  a  bell  nothing  is  harder  than 
to  be  obliged  to  keep  silent  at  the  feast  of  the 
Resurrection. 

Passion  week  had  come.  On  Wednesday  the 
hare  came  bounding  out  of  the  forest.  He  stopped 
ill  front  of  the  chapel,  stood  on  his  hind  legs, 
and  called  up  to  the  bell,  "  If  you  have  anything 
to  be  done  in  the  city,  tell  me,  for  I  am  on  my 
way  there.  I  have  been  appointed  Easter  hare, 
and  have  my  paws  full,  and  so  much  business 
to  attend  to  that  I  don't  know  which  end  my 
head  is  on."  The  sorrowful  bell  kept  silent, 
and  the  hare  ran  on. 

The  next  night  there  was  a  mighty  roaring 
in  the  air.  The  roes  crouched  down  in  the 
underbrush,  for  they  thought  it  was  the  night 
huntsman  passing  through  the  forest.  But  it 
was  not  the  forest  fiend,  but  the  bells,  on  their 
way  to  Rome  to  obtain  the  blessing  of  the  Pope. 

The  bell  from  the  convent  on  the  mountain 
came  over  to  the  forest  chapel,  and  stopped  for 
a  moment. 


172  THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL. 

"How  is  it,  sister,"  she  asked  the  forgotten 
bell,  "that  you  are  not  going,  too?" 

"  Ah,  I  would  gladly  go,"  lamented  the  little 
bell.  "  But  I  have  been  idle  the  whole  year  long, 
therefore  I  dare  not  go  with  you.  Still,  if  you  will 
do  me  a  favor,  say  a  good  word  to  the  holy  father 
in  Rome  for  me.  Perhaps  he  will  send  some  one 
to  ring  me  on  Easter  Sunday.  It  is  so  melancholy 
to  have  to  be  silent  when  all  of  you  are  singing. 
Will  you  do  me  the  kindness?" 

The  convent  bell  mumbled  something  like  "  non 
possumus."  Then  she  arose,  like  a  great,  clumsy 
bird,  from  the  ground,  and  flew  after  the  others. 
And  the  forgotten  bell  remained  sadly  behind. 

"  Be  thankful  that  human  beings  leave  you  in 
peace,"  said  the  forest  owl  to  the  bell.  "The 
stupid  beasts  in  the  woods  understand  nothing 
about  your  ringing,  and  it  disturbs  me  in  my 
meditation.  But  you  are  not  entirely  forsaken, 
for  I  am  going  to  build  my  nest  near  you.  And 
you  will  gain  much  by  it,  for  I  am  a  man  from 
whom  you  can  learn  a  great  deal."  Thus  spoke 
the  owl,  and  puffed  himself  up.  But  the  bell  gave 
him  no  answer. 

Easter  morning  dawned.  Twilight  still  lin- 
gered over  the  village,  and  the  mist  stretched  over 


THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL.  173 

the  mountain  slope.  A  cool  wind  blew  through 
the  branches  of  the  trees,  stirred  the  white  May 
lilies,  and  rustled  through  the  dry  reeds,  so  that  it 
sounded  like  the  low  tones  of  a  harp.  Then  the 
mountain  tops  grew  red,  and  the  firs  creaked  and 
shook  their  branches,  as  if  they  were  just  awaking 
from  sleep.  The  sun  rose  and  scattered  gold  over 
the  tips  of  the  fir-trees,  and  the  wood  birds  napped 
their  wings,  raised  their  voices,  and  sang  their 
Easter  songs.  But  the  forgotten  bell  hung  sad 
and  silent  under  the  roof  in  the  chapel. 

At  the  same  hour  a  young  man  was  walking 
along  the  highway  which  led  through  the  forest. 
He  wore  a  huntsman's  leather  jacket  and  a  gray 
hawk's  feather  in  his  hat.  By  his  left  side  hung 
a  broad  hunting-knife,  with  a  handle  of  a  stag's 
horn  ;  but  instead  of  fire-arms,  he  carried  a  heavily 
packed  knapsack  of  badger's  skin.  This  and  a 
cane  of  buckthorn  with  iron  mountings,  which  he 
swung  in  his  right  hand,  led  one  to  suppose  that 
the  huntsman  was  not  after  game,  but  was  making 
a  journey ;  and  so  it  was. 

At  the  place  where  a  path  which  led  to  a  mill 
struck  off  from  the  road,  the  young  fellow  stopped, 
and  seemed  undecided  whether  to  keep  on  the 
road  or  to  take  the  meadow  path.  But  he  did  not 


174  THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL. 

linger  long.  He  cast  a  gloomy  look  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  mill,  threw  his  head  back  haughtily, 
and  gave  a  hunting-cry  that  made  the  fir-woods 
resound.  Then  as  he  went  along,  he  sang :  — 

"  Farewell,  green  jocund  forest  home! 

Thee  must  I  leave  behind  me, 
Throughout  the  weary  world  to  roam 
Till  Fortune's  favors  find  me. 
As  hunter  lad 
My  joy  I've  had 
The  noble  stag  in  chasing; 
But  now  my  way 
Leads  to  the  fray 
Where  death  I  shall  be  facing. 

"  A  gray  hawk  sat  upon  the  height, 

Enchained  by  evil  magic; 
In  sadness  pined  he  day  and  night, 
His  mood  was  grim  and  tragic. 
He  would  exchange 
For  freedom's  range 
The  forests'  wide  dominions; 
On  high,  on  high, 
Thou  wild  bird,  fly, 
And  spread  thy  noble  pinions." 

But  the  last  words  stuck  in  the  young  man's 
throat,  and  the  half -suppressed  sigh  at  the  end  ill 
accorded  with  the  huntsman's  joyous  manner. 


THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL.  175 

Suddenly  the  youth  left  the  broad  road,  and 
went  diagonally  through  the  forest,  straight  to  the 
deserted  hermitage.  By  the  spring,  which  had  its 
source  near  the  house  he  stopped,  bent  down,  and 
filled  a  wooden  cup  with  the  cool  water.  He 
drank  it  slowly,  and  sprinkled  the  last  drops  on 
the  moss.  "Well,"  he  said,  "now  it  is  all 
over." 

The  water  was  clear  and  cold,  but  it  could  not 
cool  the  hot  blood  of  the  one  who  drank  it.  The 
young  huntsman  sat  down  on  the  threshold  of  the 
hermitage  and  covered  his  face  with  both  hands. 

The  summer  before,  after  a  long  absence,  he 
had  returned  to  the  country,  and  entered  the  ser- 
vice of  the  old  forester.  He  had  seen  something 
of  the  world ;  in  the  emperor's  hunting-train,  he 
had  chased  the  chamois  and  the  steinboc  in  the 
high  mountains ;  he  had  followed  his  master  to 
the  merry  hunting-boxes  and  to  the  splendid 
residence  in  the  capital;  and  everywhere  he  had 
carried  with  him  his  love  for  the  miller's  fair- 
haired  daughter  in  his  native  valley.  He  had 
corne  back  with  a  generous  sum  of  money  and 
many  sweet  hopes,  but  they  had  melted  away  to 
nothing,  and  now  he  was  on  the  point  of  leaving 
the  country  and  enlisting  as  a  soldier. 


176  THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL. 

It  was  near  the  hermitage  in  the  forest  whei'e 
he  had  found  his  sweetheart  for  the  first  time  after 
their  separation.  She  had  come  to  draw  water; 
and  when  the  hunter  recognized  the  beautiful, 
slender  form,  as  she  bent  over  the  well,  his  joy 
was  so  great  that  he  leaped  from  his  hiding-place 
with  a  wild  shout,  and  threw  his  arms  around  the 
frightened  maiden.  But  she  had  pushed  him 
roughly  away  from  her,  so  that  he  fell  backwards, 
and  then  she  turned  her  back  and  went  away. 

Later  on,  the  huntsman  had  tried  once  more 
to  approach  the  miller's  daughter.  It  was  at  the 
time  of  the  harvest  festival,  when  young  and  old 
march  in  bands  to  the  dancing-ground.  There  the 
huntsman  had  waylaid  the  beautiful  girl,  and  had 
come  to  meet  her  with  a  friendly  greeting  and  a 
bouquet  of  clove  pinks.  But  when  she  saw  the 
youth  coming  towards  her,  she  had  turned  around 
and  gone  back  to  the  mill,  and  the  hunter,  in  his 
anger,  had  thrown  the  bunch  of  pinks  into  the 
mill  brook.  The  coy  maid  had  fished  the  flowers 
out  of  the  water  near  the  dam,  dried  them,  and 
laid  them  away  in  her  chest,  but  he  knew  nothing 
about  that. 

Then  perversity  came  over  the  huntsman.  "If 
you  go  to  the  left,  I  will  go  to  the  right,"  he 


THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL.  177 

thought ;  and  lest  she  might  imagine  that  he  took 
the  matter  to  heart,  he  joined  a  company  of  gay 
fellows,  drank,  sang,  and  carried  on  so  madly  that 
the  wild  youth  was  in  everybody's  mouth  for  seven 
miles  around. 

That  went  on  through  the  whole  winter.  Then 
one  evening  a  bright  light,  which  took  the  form  of 
a  sword,  was  seen  in  the  sky,  and  shortly  after  the 
news  came  that  in  the  spring  there  would  be  war 
in  Italy.  It  was  not  long  before  the  beating  of 
drums  was  heard  in  the  land,  and  the  roads 
swarmed  with  travelling  people,  who  were  all 
going  to  join  the  imperial  army.  Then  the  hunts- 
man gave  notice  that  he  was  going  to  leave  the 
forester's  service,  gave  his  drinking-companions  a 
generous  parting  cup,  and  followed  the  rest,  to  for- 
get on  the  field  his  sorrow  and  distress.  And  he 
had  already  really  come  as  far  as  the  hermitage  in 
the  forest.  He  was  now  sitting  on  the  door-stone, 
sadly  hanging  his  head. 

A  soft,  distant  rustling  in  the  underbrush  fell 
on  the  young  fellow's  sharp  ear.  The  huntsman 
was  awake  in  him,  and  his  sharp  eye  looked  about 
for  the  cause  of  the  sound.  But  it  was  no  shift- 
ing game  that  was  coming  through  the  bushes. 
Between  the  trunks  of  the  fir-trees  gleamed  some- 


178  THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL. 

thing  light,  like  a  woman's  garments,  and  the 
hunter  slipped  noiselessly,  but  with  loud-beating 
heart,  behind  the  wall  of  the  house,  for  through 
the  forest  came  walking  her  whom  he  would  fain 
forget,  but  could  not  forget. 

The  maiden  came  slowly  nearer.  Now  and 
then  she  bent  down  to  add  a  flower  to  the  nosegay 
which  she  carried  in  her  hand,  and  each  time  her 
long  flaxen  braids  would  fall  forward  and  touch 
the  ground.  When  she  reached  the  well,  she  filled 
a  little  earthen  jug  with  the  water  and  placed  the 
nosegay  in  it.  Then  she  went  into  the  chapel, 
placed  the  flowers  before  the  image  of  the  Virgin, 
and  knelt  down  on  the  moss-covered  step. 

In  a  low  voice  she  repeated  the  angel's  greet- 
ing, arid  then  began  to  pour  out  her  heart  to 
the  queen  of  heaven.  It  was  a  prayer  full  of 
self-accusation  and  repentance.  "  I  have  driven 
him  from  me,"  she  bemoaned,  "  driven  him  out 
into  danger  and  death,  and  yet  I  love  him  so  1 
more  dearly  than  the  light  of  my  eyes !  Still 
there  is  time  to  change  everything  by  a  word  of 
reconciliation,  if  I  knew  that  he  still  loved  me. 
Easter  is  the  time  of  miracles.  Give  me,  oh, 
heaven,  a  sign,  if  he  still  thinks  of  me  lovingly 
and  faithfully,  and  I  will  run  after  him  to  the 


THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL.  179 

end  of  the  world,  and  bring  him  back.  Give 
me  a  sign  !  " 

Then  above  her  softly  sounded  the  bell.  It 
was  only  a  single  tone,  but  it  rang  through  the 
heart  of  the  grieved  maiden  like  a  joyful  song 
of  jubilee.  She  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  up 
questioningly  at  the  Madonna.  Then  the  bell 
sounded  for  the  second  time,  and  louder  and 
more  joyful,  and  when  the  maiden  turned,  there 
stood  in  the  entrance  of  the  chapel  the  young 
huntsman,  stretching  out  his  arms  to  his  beloved. 
And  this  time  she  did  not  run  away.  She  threw 
her  arms  about  the  wild  hunter's  sun-burned 
neck,  and  stammered  words  of  love. 

The  titmice,  and  the  golden-crested  wrens 
which  lived  in  the  branches  of  the  fir-trees,  flut- 
tered along,  and  the  wood-mouse  put  his  head 
out  at  the  door  of  his  house,  and  everything 
looked  curiously  at  the  pair  in  the  chapel. 

The  two  remained  in  each  others'  embrace 
for  a  long  time.  Then  the  huntsman  grasped 
the  rope  of  the  bell  and  called  up  to  it :  "  Bell, 
you  have  brought  us  together;  now  tell  our  joy 
to  the  forest ! "  And  the  little  bell  under  the 
chapel  roof  began  to  gleam  with  joy  in  the 
warm  sunshine,  and  swung  tirelessly  to  and  fro 
and  let  her  clear  voice  sound  through  the  forest. 


180  THE  FORGOTTEN  BELL. 

From  the  towers  in  the  surrounding  villages 
came  the  sounds  of  famous  church  bells.  They 
had  returned  the  night  before  from  their  visit 
to  Rome,  and  had  seen  many  wondei-ful  sights. 
But  not  one  of  them  sang  her  Easter  song  so 
joyfully  as  the  little  forgotten  bell  in  the  forest. 


THE  WATEE   OF  YOUTH. 


TTT  was  Midsummer  day  and  the  heat  of  noon  lay 
on  the  cornfields.  Occasionally  a  fresh  breeze 
blew  down  from  the  forest  mountain;  then  the 
stalks  would  bend  low,  and  the  poppies  on  the 
border  of  the  field  would  scatter  their  delicate 
petals.  Crickets  and  grasshoppers  made  music 
in  the  grain,  and  from  the  hawthorn  bushes  on 
the  boundary  line  came  now  and  then  the  low 
call  of  the  yellow-hammer. 

Through  the  cornfield,  which  stretched  from  the 
valley  to  the  mountain,  along  a  narrow  path  a 
young  peasant  woman  of  slender,  vigorous  form, 
was  walking.  She  wore  the  full  gown  customary 
in  the  country,  and  a  red  kerchief  on  her  head  to 
protect  her  from  the  sun's  rays;  a  basket  hung 
on  her  left  arm,  and  in  her  right  hand  she  carried 
a  stone  jug. 

As  soon  as  the  gold-hammer  in  the  hawthorn 
bush  saw  her,  he  flew  to  the  topmost  bough  and 


182  THE   WATER   OF   YOUTH. 

greeted  her  with  the  cry,  "Little  girl,  little  girl, 
how  are  you!"  But  the  bird  was  mistaken;  the 
fair-haired  Greta  was  no  maiden,  but  a  young 
wife,  and  she  was  now  on  her  way  to  her  hus- 
band, who  was  cutting  wood  over  in  the  forest. 

When  the  beautiful  woman  reached  the  edge  of 
the  woods  she  stopped  to  listen,  and  soon  she  heard 
the  blows  of  an  axe,  towards  which  she  was  to  turn 
her  steps.  It  was  not  long  before  she  caught  sight 
of  her  husband,  who  was  felling  a  fir-tree  with 
mighty  strokes,  and  she  called  to  him  in  a  joyful 
voice. 

"  Stand  still,  where  you  are !  "  he  shouted  back ; 
"the  tree  is  going  to  fall."  And  the  fir-tree  gave 
a  deep  groan,  bent  forward,  and  fell  to  the  ground 
•with  a  crash. 

Then  Greta  came  along,  and  the  sun-burned 
wood-cutter  took  his  young  wife  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  fondly.  Then  they  sat  down  on  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  and  took  out  the  lunch  that  she 
had  brought  in  the  basket.  Then  Hans  laid 
down  his  bread,  seized  his  axe,  saying,  "I  have 
forgotten  something,"  and  went  to  the  stump  of 
the  tree  he  had  just  felled,  and  cut  three  crosses 
in  the  wood. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that,.  Hans  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 


THE    WATER    OF  YOUTH.  183 

"That  is  for  the  sake  of  the  little  old  women 
of  the  forest,"  the  husband  explained.  "  The 
poor  little  creatures  have  a  wicked  enemy,  the 
wild  huntsman.  He  lies  in  wait  for  them  day 
and  night,  and  hunts  them  with  his  dogs.  But 
if  the  persecuted  little  women  can  escape  to  such 
a  tree  trunk,  then  the  wild  huntsman  can  do 
them  no  harm,  on  account  of  the  three  crosses." 

The  young  wife  opened  her  eyes  wide.  "  Have 
you  ever  seen  one  of  these  little  forest  folk  ? "  she 
asked,  with  curiosity. 

"  No ;  they  seldom  let  themselves  be  seen.  But 
this  is  Midsummer  day,  and  then  they  are  visi- 
ble." And  suddenly  he  called  out  in  a  clear 
voice  into  the  forest,  "  Little  forest  woman,  come 
forth ! " 

He  had  only  done  it  to  tease  his  wife.  But  on 
holy  Midsummer  day  one  should  not  make  sport 
of  such  things  in  the  forest. 

Suddenly  there  stood  before  the  young  people 
a  little  woman  about  an  ell  high,  of  dainty  form 
and  beautiful  face.  She  wore  a  long  white  dress, 
and  a  bunch  of  mistletoe  in  her  yellow  hair. 

Hans  and  Greta  were  very  much  startled.  They 
rose  quickly  from  their  seat,  and  Greta  made  a 
courtesy  as  well  as  she  knew  how. 


184  THE   WATER   OF  YOUTH. 

"You  called  me  at  just  the  right  time,"  said 
the  little  creature,  and  pointed  with  her  forefinger 
at  the  sun,  -which  stood  exactly  over  her  head; 
"  and  one  good  turn "  —  here  she  pointed  to  the 
stump  with  the  three  marks  —  "  deserves  another. 
Gold  and  silver  have  I  none  to  give  you,  but  I 
know  something  better.  Come. with  me ;  no  harm 
will  happen  to  you;  and  take  your  jug  with  you; 
you  will  be  able  to  use  it." 

Having  spoken  these  words,  she  went  on.  Hans 
shouldered  his  axe,  Greta  took  up  her  stone  jug, 
and  both  followed  the  little  woman.  But  she 
walked  exactly  like  a  duck,  and  Greta  pulled  her 
husband's  arm,  pointed  to  the  little  waddling 
woman,  and  was  going  to  whisper  something  in 
his  ear,  but  Hans  laid  his  finger  on  his  mouth. 
Nothing  hurts  the  little  creatures  more  than  to 
have  their  gait  made  fun  of.  They  have  feet 
like  a  goose,  and  that  is  why  they  wear  long, 
flowing  skirts. 

After  a  short  time,  the  three  came  to  an  open 
place  in  the  woods.  Primeval  trees  stood  in  a 
circle  around  a  meadow,  in  the  grass  grew  lilies 
and  bluebells,  and  great  butterflies  sat  on  them, 
opening  and  shutting  their  wings.  And  Hans, 
who  thought  he  knew  the  whole  forest,  could 


THE   WATER   OF  YOUTH.  185 

not  remember  that  he  had  ever  been  in  this 
place  before.  On  the  border  of  the  meadow 
stood  a  little  house.  The  walls  were  covered 
with  bark,  and  the  roof  was  shingled  with  scales 
of  fir  cones,  and  each  scale  was  fastened  down 
with  a  rose-thorn.  Here  was  the  little  woman's 
home. 

She  led  her  guests  behind  the  house,  and 
pointed  to  a  well  whose  waters  flowed  noiselessly 
out  of  the  black  earth.  Juicy  colt's-foot  and 
fleur-de-lis  grew  on  its  brink,  and  over  the  sur- 
face danced  golden-green  dragon-flies. 

"  That  is  the  well  of  youth,"  said  the  little 
woman.  "A  bath  in  its  waters  makes  an  old 
mau  a  boy  and  an  old  woman  a  young  girl  again. 
But  if  one  drinks  the  water,  it  prevents  him 
from  growing  old,  and  grants  him  the  freshness 
of  youth  till  death.  Fill  your  jug  and  carry  it 
home.  But  use  the  precious  water  sparingly : 
one  drop  every  Sunday  is  sufficient  to  keep  you 
young.  And  one  thing  more :  if  ever  you,  Hans, 
cast  your  eye  on  any  other  woman,  or  you,  Greta, 
on  any  other  man,  the  water  will  lose  its  power. 
Remember  that.  Now  fill  your  jug,  and  fare- 
well ! " 

The    little    creature    spoke    these  words,   pre- 


186  THE    WATER    OF   YOUTH. 

vented  the  lucky  pair  from  thanking  her,  and 
went  into  her  house.  But  Greta  filled  the  jug 
with  the  water  of  youth,  and  then  hurried  away, 
as  fast  as  she  could  go,  to  her  own  cottage. 

When  they  reached  home,  Hans  put  the  water 
in  a  bottle,  and  sealed  it  with  fir-resin.  "For 
the  present,"  he  said,  "we  have  no  use  for  the 
water  of  youth,  and  we  can  save  it ;  the  time 
will  come  soon  enough  when  we  shall  need  it." 
And  then  they  put  the  bottle  in  the  cupboard, 
where  they  kept  their  treasures,  —  a  pair  of  old 
coins,  a  string  of  garnet  beads  from  which  hung 
a  golden  penny,  and  two  silver  spoons.  "  But, 
Greta,  now  be  sure  and  take  care  that  the  water 
does  not  lose  its  strength ! " 

And  what  care  they  took !  If  the  young  for- 
ester passed  by  the  garden,  and  exchanged  a 
greeting  with  Greta,  as  he  was  accustomed  to 
do,  then  Greta  did  not  look  up  from  her  vege- 
table bed.  And  when  Hans  sat  in  the  White 
Stag  in  the  evening,  and  the  pretty  Lizzie  brought 
him  the  wine,  he  made  up  a  face  like  a  cat  when 
it  thunders ;  and  at  last  he  gave  up  going  to  the 
inn,  and  stayed  at  home  with  his  wife.  So  the 
water  must  surely  keep  its  magic  power. 

Thus  passed  a  year  of  love  and  happiness  to 


THE    WATER   OF   YOUTH.  187 

the  young  pair;  for  instead  of  two  there  were 
three  of  them.  In  the  cradle  a  little  round  boy 
was  kicking  and  screaming,  till  the  father's 
heart  leaped  for  joy.  "Now,"  he  thought,  "the 
time  has  come  for  opening  the  bottle.  What  do 
you  think,  Greta?  A  drop  of  the  water  of 
youth  will  do  you  good." 

His  wife  agreed  with  him,  and  Hans  went  to 
the  room  where  the  magic  drink  was  kept.  With 
his  hands  trembling  for  joy,  he  broke  the  seal, 
and  —  oh  dear!  oh  dear  I  the  bottle  slipped  from 
his  grasp,  and  the  drink  of  youth  flowed  over 
the  floor.  A  little  more  and  Hans  would  have 
fallen  on  the  floor,  too,  for  he  was  so  frightened 
at  the  misfortune.  What  should  he  do?  On  no 
account  should  his  wife  know  what  had  happened ; 
she  might  die  from  fright.  Perhaps  he  would 
tell  her  later  what  he  had  done ;  perhaps,  too, 
he  might  find  the  well  of  youth  again,  —  which,  to 
be  sure,  he  had  sought  for  hitherto  in  vain,  —  and 
repair  the  loss.  He  hastily  filled  a  new  bottle, 
which  was  exactly  like  the  first,  with  well-water ; 
and  well-water  it  was  too  that  he  gave  to  his 
wife. 

"  Ah,  how  that  revives  and  strengthens  me  I " 
said  Greta.  "Take  a  drop  too,  dear  Hans." 


188  THE   WATER   OF  YOUTH. 

And  Hans  obeyed,  and  praised  the  virtue  of  the 
wonderful  drink;  and  from  that  time  on  they 
each  took  a  drop  when  the  bells  were  ringing 
for  church.  And  Greta  bloomed  like  a  rose;  as 
for  Hans,  every  vein  in  his  body  swelled  with 
health  and  strength.  But  he  put  off  the  confes- 
sion of  his  deed  from  day  to  day ;  for  he  secretly 
hoped  to  find  the  well  of  youth  again  at  last. 
But  roam  through  the  woods  as  much  as  he 
would,  the  meadow  where  the  little  old  woman 
lived  he  could  not  find. 

Thus  two  years  more  passed  by.  A  little 
girl  had  come  to  join  the  little  boy,  and  Greta's 
round  chin  had  grown  double.  She  did  not 
notice  it  herself,  for  looking-glasses  were  not 
known  in  those  days.  Hans  saw  it,  to  be  sure, 
but  he  took  care  not  to  speak  of  it,  and  his  love 
for  his  portly  wife  redoubled. 

Then  came  a  misfortune ;  at  least,  Dame  Greta 
considered  it  so.  One  day,  when  she  was  clean- 
ing house,  little  Peter,  her  eldest,  got  into  the 
cupboard,  where  the  bottle  of  the  supposed  water 
of  youth  stood,  clumsily  upset  it,  so  that  it  broke 
and  spilled  the  contents. 

"  Oh,  merciful  heavens  !  "  bewailed  the  mother. 
"  It  is  lucky,  though,  that  Hans  is  not  at  home !  " 


THE    WATER    OF   YOUTH.  189 

With  trembling  hands  she  gathered  up  the  pieces 
from  the  floor,  and  replaced  the  bottle  with 
another,  which  she  filled  with  ordinary  water. 
—  "The  deception  will  surely  be  found  out,  for 
now  it  is  all  over  with  the  eternal  youth.  Oh 
dear,  oh  dear ! "  —  But  she  determined,  above  all, 
not  to  let  her  husband  notice  anything  unusual. 

Again  some  time  passed  by,  and  the  two 
people  lived  together  the  same  as  on  the  day 
that  the  priest  joined  their  hands  together.  Each 
carefully  avoided  letting  the  other  notice  that 
youth  was  past,  and  every  Sunday  they  con- 
scientiously took  the  magic  drop. 

One  morning,  when  the  husband  was  comb- 
ing his  hair,  it  happened  that  he  came  across 
a  gray  hair.  And  he  thought,  "  Now  the  time 
has  come  for  me  to  tell  my  wife  the  truth."  With 
a  heavy  heart  he  began :  "  Greta,  it  seems  to  me 
that  our  water  of  youth  has  lost  its  power.  See! 
I  have  found  a  gray  hair.  I  am  growing  old. " 

Greta  was  startled ;  but  she  recovered  herself, 
and,  with  a  forced  laugh,  cried  :  "A  gray  hair!  I 
was  no  more  than  ten  years  old  when  I  had  a 
gray  lock  in  my  hair.  Such  a  thing  often  hap- 
pens. You  have  just  been  cleaning  a  badger; 
perhaps  you  got  some  of  the  fat  in  your  hair; 


190  THE    WATER    OF   YOUTH. 

badger's  fat  is  known  to  turn  the  hair  gray. 
No,  dear  Hans,  the  water  still  has  its  old  power, 
or," — here  she  gave  him  an  anxious  look  —  "or 
do  you  think  that  I  am  growing  old  too  ?  " 

Then  Hans  laughed  outright.  "  You  —  old  ? 
You  are  as  blooming  as  a  peony ! "  And  then 
he  threw  his  arms  around  her  big  waist  and 
gave  her  a  kiss.  But  when  he  was  by  himself 
he  said  with  secret  delight,  "Thank  the  Lord! 
She  doesn't  notice  that  we  are  growing  old.  So 
I  must  have  done  right." 

And  his  wife  thought  the  same  thing. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  the  young 
people  of  the  village  danced  to  the  fiddle  of  a 
travelling  musician,  and  no  merrier  couple  turned 
about  the  linden-tree  than  Hans  and  Greta.  The 
peasant  women,  to  be  sure,  made  sarcastic  re- 
marks about  them,  but  the  two  happy  people 
heard  none  of  their  ridicule. 

In  the  following  autumn  it  happened,  as  Hans 
was  eating  a  Martinmas  goose  with  his  family, 
Dame  Greta  broke  out  one  of  her  teeth.  Then 
there  was  a  great  lament,  for  she  had  been 
proud  of  her  white  teeth.  And  when  the  hus- 
band and  wife  were  alone  together,  Greta  said 
in  an  unsteady  voice,  "Such  a  misfortune  would 
not  have  happened  if  the  water  — " 


THE    WATER   OF   YOUTH.  191 

Then  Hans  began  to  scold.  "You  expect  the 
water  to  help  everything?  Doesn't  it  often  hap- 
pen that  a  child,  in  cracking  a  nut,  breaks  out 
a  tooth?  What  have  you  against  the  delicious 
water?  Are  you  not  as  fresh  and  healthy  as 
a  young  head  of  lettuce?  Or  have  you  cast 
your  eyes  on  another,  that  you  mistrust  the 
water's  virtue?" 

Then  his  wife  laughed,  wiped  the  tears  from 
her  cheeks,  and  kissed  her  old  man  till  he  nearly 
lost  his  breath.  In  the  afternoon  they  sat  to- 
gether on  the  stone  seat  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  sang  duets  about  true  love,  and  the  passers- 
by  said,  "  The  silly  old  people  1  "  but  the  happy 
pair  did  not  hear  them. 

Thus  passed  many  years.  The  house  had 
become  too  small  for  the  children ;  they  had 
married  and  gone  away,  and  had  children  of 
their  own.  The  two  old  people  were  alone  again, 
and  were  as  much  in  love  with  each  other  as  on 
the  day  of  their  wedding;  and  every  Sunday, 
•when  the  bells  were  ringing  for  church,  they 
each  took  one  drop  out  of  the  bottle. 

Midsummer  day  was  drawing  near  again. 
The  evening  before,  Hans  and  Greta  were  sit- 
ting in  front  of  the  house,  looking  up  towards 


192  THE    WATER   OF   YOUTH. 

the  hill  where  the  Midsummer  bonfire  was 
blazing;  and  from  the  distance  sounded  the 
merry  shouts  of  the  young  men  and  maidens,  as 
they  poked  the  fire  and  jumped  through  the 
flames  in  couples.  Then  the  wife  said,  "  Dear 
Hans,  I  should  like  to  go  into  the  forest  once 
more.  If  you  are  willing,  we  will  start  early 
to-morrow  morning.  But  you  must  waken  me, 
for,  at  the  time  when  the  elderberries  bloom, 
young  women  are  apt  to  sleep  long  after  day- 
light." 

Hans  was  agreed.  The  next  morning  he 
woke  his  wife  and  they  went  together  to  the 
woods.  They  walked  along  arm  in  arm,  like 
two  lovers,  and  each  carefully  guarded  the  steps 
of  the  other. 

When  Hans  stepped  cautiously  over  the  root 
of  a  tree,  his  wife  would  say,  "  Oh,  Hans,  you 
jump  like  a  young  kid!"  And  when  Greta 
timidly  crossed  a  little  hole,  her  husband  would 
laugh,  and  cry,  "Hold  up  your  skirts,  Greta! 
hop !  "  Then  they  found  an  old  fir-tree,  and  in 
its  shadow  feasted  on  what  Greta  had  brought 
with  her. 

"  Here  it  was,"  said  Hans,  "  that  the  little  old 
woman  once  appeared  to  us,  and  over  yonder  must 


THE    WATER   OF  YOUTH.  193 

lie  the  meadow  with  the  well  of  youth.  But  I  have 
never  been  able  to  find  meadow  or  well  again." 

"  And,  thank  the  Lord,  that  has  not  been  neces- 
sary," hastily  interrupted  Greta,  "for  our  bottle 
is  still  far  from  empty." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  assented  Hans.  "  But 
I  should  be  very  much  pleased  if  we  could  see 
the  good  little  woman  once  again  and  thank  her 
for  our  good  fortune.  Come,  let  us  go  and  look. 
Perhaps  I  may  be  as  lucky  to-day  as  before." 

Then  they  rose  and  went  into  the  deep  forest, 
and  behold !  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  before 
their  eyes  shone  the  sunny  forest  meadow !  Lilies 
and  harebells  bloomed  hi  the  grass,  bright  butter- 
flies flew  hither  and  thither,  and  on  the  edge  of 
the  woods  still  stood  the  little  house  just  as 
years  before.  With  beating  hearts  they  went 
round  the  house,  and  sure  enough,  there  was  the 
•well  of  youth  too,  with  the  golden-green  dragon- 
flies  hovering  over  it. 

Hans  and  Greta  stepped  up  to  the  brink  of 
the  well.  Taking  each  other  by  the  hand,  they 
bent  over  the  water  —  and  out  of  the  clear  mir- 
ror of  the  spring,  two  gray  heads,  with  kindly, 
wrinkled  faces,  looked  back  at  them. 

Then  hot  tears  rushed  to  their  eyes,  and  stam- 


194  THE    WATER    OF   YOUTH. 

mering  and  sobbing  they  confessed  their  guilt, 
and  it  was  some  time  before  it  became  clear  to 
them  that  each  had  deceived  the  other,  and  for 
long  years  had  cheated  one  another  for  love's 
sake. 

"  Then  you  knew  that  we  were  both  growing 
old?"  cried  Hans,  with  delight. 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  his  wife,  laughing 
in  the  midst  of  her  tears. 

"  And  so  did  I,"  exulted  the  old  Hans ;  and 
he  tried  to  leap  for  joy.  Then  he  took  Greta's 
head  in  his  hands  and  kissed  her  just  as  he  had 
done  when  she  promised  to  be  his  wife. 

And,  as  if  she  had  grown  up  out  of  the  ground, 
the  little  forest  woman  stood  before  the  two  old 
people. 

"  Be  welcome ! "  she  said.  "  You  have  not  been 
to  see  me  for  a  long  time.  But,  but,"  continued 
the  little  woman,  shaking  her  finger  at  them, 
"you  have  not  taken  good  care  of  the  water  of 
youth.  Wrinkles  and  gray  hairs,  indeed !  Now," 
she  continued,  consolingly,  "  those  are  easily  reme- 
died, and  you  have  come  at  a  propitious  hour. 
Quick!  Jump  into  the  well  —  it  is  not  deep  — 
and  plunge  your  gray  heads  under,  then  you 
will  see  a  miracle.  The  bath  will  give  you  the 


THE    WATER    OF   YOUTH.  195 

strength  of  youth  and  beauty  again.  But  be 
quick,  before  the  sun  goes  down ! " 

Hans  and  Greta  looked  at  each  other  inquir- 
ingly. "Will  you?"  asked  the  husband  in  an 
unsteady  voice. 

"  Never !  "  quickly  answered  Greta.  "  Oh,  if 
you  only  knew  how  happy  I  arn,  that  at  last  I 
may  dare  to  be  old.  And  then  it  would  not  do, 
on  account  of  our  children  and  grandchildren. 
No,  dear  little  woman;  a  thousand  thanks  for 
your  kindness,  but  we  will  remain  as  we  are. 
Is  it  not  so,  Hans?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Hans ;  "  we  will  remain  old. 
Hurrah !  If  you  knew,  Greta,  how  becoming  your 
gray  hair  is ! " . 

"  As  you  like,"  said  the  little  creature,  a  bit 
hurt.  "Nothing  is  compulsory  here."  Thus  she 
spoke,  and  went  into  her  house  and  closed  the 
door  behind  her. 

But  the  two  old  people  kissed  each  other 
again.  Then  they  went  arm  in  arm  on  their 
homeward  way  through  the  forest,  and  the  mid- 
summer sun  poured  a  golden  gleam  about  their 
gray  heads. 


THE   FOUR  EVANGELISTS. 


I  I  IS  name  was  Gustavus  Adolphus,  and  he  was 
the  son  of  the  clock-maker  Lacknail,  who 
led  a  modest  life  in  a  little  town.  Gustavus 
Adolphus  wished  to  become  a  clergyman,  and  had 
begun  very  early  to  devote  his  services  to  the 
church :  he  rang  the  bells  on  Sunday ;  at  first  the 
little  ones,  and  then  afterwards,  when  he  became 
strong  enough,  the  large  ones ;  and  when  the 
congregation  found  edification  in  singing,  he  blew 
the  organ  with  holy  zeal,  till  the  perspiration  rolled 
down  over  his  forehead.  Then,  too,  he  buried  the 
dead  bodies  of  pet  birds  and  rabbits  under  the 
cabbage-heads  in  his  parents'  vegetable  garden, 
and  preached  such  touching  discourses  over  them 
that  tears  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  listening 
washerwomen,  who  were  working  by  the  brook 
which  flowed  past. 

At  school,  he  was  frankly  none  of  the  best.     He 
was  thick-headed,  and  learned  but  slowly  how  to 


THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS.  197 

read,  write,  and  reckon ;  but  the  catechism  he  had 
at  his  tongue's  end,  and  he  knew  a  little  trick,  too ; 
that  is,  he  could  repeat  "  Our  Father,"  as  rapidly 
backwards  as  forwards,  and  none  of  his  school- 
mates could  emulate  him  in  that.  Besides,  Gus- 
tavus  Adolphus  was  no  devotee,  nor  hypocrite,  but 
he  was  a  good-natured,  honest  fellow,  whom  every- 
body could  endure. 

Whenever  the  boy  spoke  in  the  presence  of  his 
parents  of  wishing  to  become  a  clergyman,  his 
father  would  knit  his  brows,  not  because  he  was 
opposed  to  the  calling  as  such,  but  because  in  consid- 
eration of  his  modest  income  he  feared  the  expense 
of  such  an  education.  But  his  mother  smiled  with 
delight  at  the  thought  of  seeing  her  son  one  day 
in  the  pulpit,  and  when  the  principal  of  the  town 
school  once  told  her  plainly  that  Gustavus  Adol- 
phus was  of  too  limited  capacity  to  be  able  to 
study,  she  went  away  indignant,  and  would  not 
believe  it. 

But  the  matter  had  one  difficulty.  Gustavus 
Adolphus  had  what  is  called  a  stammering  tongue, 
and  could  not  pronounce  certain  letters  well ;  for 
example,  R  and  S  gave  him  great  trouble.  One 
day  he  read  in  his  reading-book  of  the  celebrated 
orator  Demosthenes,  who  had  to  contend  with  a 


198  THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS. 

similar  impediment,  and  he  at  once  determined  to 
imitate  him.  Like  him,  he  no  longer  cut  his  hair, 
but  went  every  day  to  the  roaring  mill-dam  and 
declaimed  in  a  loud  voice,  "  John  the  silly  soap-suds 
stirrer." 

Indeed,  his  indefatigable  perseverance  would 
have  surely  made  him  a  pulpit  orator,  if  Provi- 
dence had  not  frustrated  his  plans.  His  mother, 
who  till  now  had  taken  his  part,  laid  her  down 
and  died.  His  father  spoke  the  word  of  command, 
and  Gustavus  Adolphus  entered  his  father's  work- 
shop as  a  clock-maker's  apprentice.  There  the 
poor  young  fellow  had  to  sit,  with  shaded  eyes, 
and  was  obliged  to  clean  and  oil  the  clocks  of  his 
fellow-townsmen;  and,  in  his  opinion,  there  was 
no  more  unfortunate  creature  to  be  found  on 
God's  earth  than  Gustavus  Adolphus  Lacknail. 

Time  heals  all  things.  He  learned  to  become 
resigned;  and  when  the  winding  of  the  clock  in 
the  church  tower  was  intrusted  to  him,  he  was 
half  reconciled  to  his  fate. 

The  years  passed  away  one  after  another. 
Gustavus  Adolphus  had  served  his  time  and  went 
out  as  a  journeyman.  But  he  did  not  go  beyond 
the  next  town,  and  returned  home  as  soon  as  the 
required  term  had  expired.  For  a  year  or  two  he 


THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS  199 

worked  on  as  his  father's  assistant;  then  his  father 
departed  this  life,  and  he  was  master  in  the  busi- 
ness, and  the  business  prospered. 

Soon  after,  the  place  of  sexton  in  the  town 
church  was  vacated.  To  the  astonishment  of  all 
the  inhabitants  Gustavus  Adolphus  sought  the 
position,  and  obtained  it,  too.  Evil  tongues  said 
that  a  contemptible  love  of  gain  lead  the  wealthy 
man  to  this  step;  but  when  it  became  known 
that  the  new  church  sexton  had  made  over  his 
salary  to  the  poor-house,  then  the  slanderers  were 
silent,  and  Gustavus  Adolphus'  reputation  grew 
like  the  crescent  moon.  The  pastor  brought  it 
about  that  Mr.  Lacknail  received  the  title  of 
"assistant."  This  sounded  better  than  "sexton." 

Henceforth  Gustavus  Adolphus  was  never  seen 
in  public  except  in  a  long  black  coat,  which  he 
wore  buttoned  up  to  the  neck ;  above  the  collar, 
however,  appeared  a  modest  white  cravat,  and 
above  this  a  round,  smoothly  shaven  face,  about 
whose  mouth  constantly  played  a  kindly  smile. 

Gustavus  Adolphus  was  reconciled  to  his  fate. 
The  dreams  of  his  boyhood  years  were  not  ful- 
filled, to  be  sure ;  he  was  not  the  first  person  in 
the  church,  but  unquestionably  the  second ;  for 
the  organist,  to  whom  this  rank  properly  be- 


200  THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS. 

longed,  took  his  drams  secretly,  and  on  this 
account  did  not  stand  well  in  the  community. 

That  the  new  assistant,  soon  after  entering  his 
office,  should  wed  a  Christian  maiden  seemed  sen- 
sible to  the  people;  but  when,  after  a  year  and  a 
day,  he  stood  beaming  with  joy  by  the  baptismal 
font,  over  which  was  held  a  little  screaming  Lack- 
nail,  then  they  all  shook  their  heads,  and  the 
pastor  as  well,  for  the  happy  father,  disregarding 
all  the  customary  baptismal  names,  had  chosen 
the  name  of  Matthew  for  his  first-born.  Gustavus 
paid  no  heed  to  the  people's  talk,  and  took  great 
delight  in  the  little  Matthew's  growth. 

Again  joy  entered  the  house  of  Mr.  Lacknail; 
a  second  son  was  born  to  him;  and  when  the 
pastor  asked  by  what  name  the  child  should 
be  baptized,  the  father  said,  proudly  smiling, 
"Mark."  Then  it  was  evident  what  Mr.  Lack- 
nail  was  striving  after;  and  he  did  not  deny  it; 
he  had  no  other  intention  than  to  surround  him- 
self with  the  four  evangelists. 

Really,  Heaven  seemed  to  favor  the  honest 
man's  intention,  for  after  a  year  and  a  half  a 
struggling  Luke  joined  Matthew  and  Mark;  and, 
moreover,  a  year  later  Mr.  Lacknail  dared  to  hope 
that  he  should  shortly  reach  the  goal  of  his  desires. 


THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS.  201 

But  who  would  have  thought  the  expected  child 
capable  of  such  wickedness !  It  came,  came  in 
good  time ;  but  it  came  into  the  world  a  maiden. 

Then  was  Gustavus  Adolphus  very  much 
grieved.  At  first  he  was  angry  with  Providence, 
aud  would  not  even  look  at  the  child,  —  it  bore  the 
name  of  Elizabeth,  —  but  then  he  scolded  himself 
severely  for  his  ingratitude,  behaved  henceforth 
towards  the  little  one  as  it  became  a  father  and 
a  servant  of  the  church,  and  placed  his  hopes  on 
the  next  child.  But  this  was  still  worse  than 
the  last  —  that  is,  it  stayed  away  entirely.  One 
year  passed  after  another;  Matthew,  Mark,  and 
Luke  grew  to  sturdy  lads,  and  the  coming  of  the 
fourth  evangelist,  John,  was  still  looked  forward  to. 

Then  a  consuming  malady  came  to  the  little 
town,  and  among  others  Mrs.  Lacknail  fell  a  vic- 
tim to  it.  When  the  year  of  mourning  was  over, 
the  widower  thought  seriously  of  marrying  again, 
that  he  might  possibly  yet  possess  a  John ;  but 
the  children  dissuaded  him  from  his  intention, 
and  Gustavus  Adolphus  remained  a  widower. 

The  young  Lacknails  prospered.  Matthew  was 
already  studying,  and  what  else  but  theology; 
Mark  went  to  the  seminary ;  Luke  worked  in 
his  father's  workshop;  and  Elizabeth  kept  the 


202  THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS. 

house.  She  was  a  beautiful,  slender  maiden, 
with  a  fresh,  round  face,  and  thick,  blonde 
braids;  and  when  Lacknail,  now  advancing  in 
life,  looked  at  her,  he  smiled,  and  laughed  to 
himself.  He  had  a  design  for  his  daughter,  but 
he  did  not  say  what  it  was. 

At  that  time  the  handsomest  young  man  in 
the  town  and  country  round  was  head-waiter  in 
the  inn  of  the  Wild  Man.  His  name  was  "Jean," 
but  they  pronounced  it  "Zhang."  To  the  affa- 
bility which  graces  the  brotherhood  of  waiters 
he  united  the  polite  manners  of  a  diplomatist; 
he  wore  his  blonde  beard  like  the  captain  of  a 
ship,  and  his  curly  hair  was  parted  evenly  from 
his  forehead  to  the  nape  of  his  neck.  Besides, 
he  always  wore  snow-white  linen,  very  conspicu- 
ous cuffs,  and  shirt-studs  of  aluminium  as  large 
as  a  dollar.  Indeed,  he  was  a  splendid  young 
man.  Then,  too,  it  was  rumored  about  in  the 
town  that  he  rejoiced  in  a  pretty  little  property, 
and  that  he  intended  sometime  to  purchase  the 
Wild  Man.  So  it  really  was  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  the  hearts  of  the  townspeople's  daughters 
beat  more  loudly  when  the  handsome  Jean  greeted 
them  as  he  passed  by. 

Just  as  skilful  as  the  young  man  was  in  going 


THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS.  203 

about  with  plates  and  glasses,  just  so  unskilful 
he  had  been  for  some  time  in  handling  his  watch. 
Hardly  a  week  passed  that  his  chronometer  did 
not  need  the  help  of  Mr.  Lacknail;  sometimes 
the  crystal  was  cracked,  sometimes  the  spring 
was  broken.  Then  Jean  always  took  care  to 
give  the  patient  with  his  own  hands  to  the  phy- 
sician, and  when  discharged  well,  to  take  it 
promptly  away  again;  and  in  coming  and  going 
it  seldom  failed  to  happen  that  the  kitchen  door 
opened  a  little,  and  in  the  crack  appeared  a 
pretty  maiden's  head,  which  nodded  sweetly,  and 
then  disappeared. 

On  fine  Sundays,  when  the  afternoon  service 
was  over,  Mr.  Lacknail  was  wont  to  take  a  walk 
with  his  daughter  to  the  so-called  huntsman's 
house,  where  the  people  of  the  town  amused 
themselves  by  playing  ninepins.  Mr.  Lacknail 
never  played,  for  he  did  not  think  it  consistent 
with  his  position;  but  he  was  not  averse  to  a 
good  drink  of  beer,  especially  if  it  was  seasoned 
with  sensible  conversation,  and  this  seasoning 
for  some  weeks  had  been  supplied  by  Jean,  the 
head-waiter.  What  a  cultivated  young  man  he 
was,  and  what  a  knowledge  he  had  of  the  world! 
And  moreover,  he  was  a  proper,  steady  man,  and 


204  THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS. 

went  regularly  to  church  on  Sundays,  and  carried 
a  gilt-edged  singing-book  in  his  hand. 

The  fair-haired  Elizabeth  grew  happier  each 
day,  and  sang  at  her  work  like  a  sky-lark.  But 
her  father  became  more  and  more  silent  and 
thoughtful. 

And  it  happened  one  Sunday  about  noon,  that 
the  handsome  Jean  turned  his  steps  towards  Mr. 
Lacknail's  house.  He  was  dressed  in  black  and 
had  a  red  pink  in  his  buttonhole,  which  looked 
from  a  distance  like  a  badge.  On  his  curly 
head  lie  wore  a  hat  that  shone  like  a  mirror,  on 
his  hands  straw-colored  gloves,  and  over  his  left 
arm  hung  a  dove-colored  overcoat  lined  with 
brown  silk.  And  the  people  who  saw  him  pass- 
ing, put  their  heads  together  and  said:  "Now 
he  is  going  to  propose  to  Elizabeth.  What  a 
lucky  girl  she  is  !  " 

The  people  were  not  mistaken.  Jean  found 
the  father,  who  had  already  laid  aside  his  official 
robe,  and  was  smoking  his  pipe  in  a  comfortable 
dressing-gown,  alone  in  the  sitting-room.  The 
young  man  expressed  his  desire  in  appropriate 
language.  He  spoke  of  his  love  for  Elizabeth, 
and  then  dexterously  turned  the  conversation  to 
the  state  of  his  finances.  He  had  already  taken 


THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS.  205 

a  little  package  of  papers  from  his  breast  pocket, 
when  Mr.  Lacknail  said  in  a  serious,  almost  mel- 
ancholy voice:  "Sit  down,  young  man;  I  have 
something  to  tell  you."  And  Jean  sat  down  in 
confusion  on  the  edge  of  a  chair. 

Mr.  Lacknail  began  talking.  He  expatiated 
on  the  dreams  of  his  youth,  and  his  disappointed 
hopes, — things  which  are  sufficiently  well  known 
to  us.  Then  he  went  on  to  say :  — 

"You  know,  dear  Mr.  Zhang,  that  it  was  my 
dearest  wish  to  call  a  fourth  son  mine;  I  should 
have  had  him  baptized  John.  Heaven  was  not 
willing;  it  gave  me  a  daughter  instead  of  the 
longed-for  son.  She  is  a  dear,  good  child,  the 
joy  of  my  old  age,  and  to  see  her  happy  is  my 
daily  prayer.  But  I  made  an  oath,  an  oath 
which  now,  since  I  have  made  your  acquaint- 
ance, dear  Zhang,  I  almost  regret,  for  it  separates 
you  and  my  Elizabeth  forever.  I  have  sworn  this, 
that  my  daughter  shall  only  marry  a  man  who  is 
named  John,  and  therefore  she  can  never  become 
the  wife  of  a  Zhang."  Having  spoken  thus,  Mr. 
Lacknail  hung  his  head  sorrowfully. 

But  Jean  jumped  up  from  his  seat  like  a 
shuttlecock.  "  And  is  the  name  the  only  hin- 
drance?" he  asked. 


206  THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS. 

"  The  only  one ;  I  swear  it  to  you." 

Jean  stood  as  though  he  were  transfigured. 
Then  he  took  a  paper  out  of  his  breast  pocket, 
unfolded  it,  and  laid  it  before  the  old  man. 
"  Read,  Mr.  Lacknail,"  he  said,  triumphantly. 

The  latter  took  the  paper  in  surprise  and 
read,  ' '  Sponsor  for  John  Obermiiller  —  " 

He  read  no  further.  The  paper  fell  from  his 
hands,  and  his  voice  failed  him.  "And  this 
John  Obermiiller?"  he  asked,  finally,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice. 

"  I  am  he ! "  said  the  happy  waiter,  exultingly. 
"Jean  and  John  are  exactly  the  same." 

"  O  thou  benignant  Heaven ! "  cried  Mr.  Lack- 
nail,  folding  his  hands.  "  You  have  at  last  sent 
me  a  John.  But,  dear  John,  what  unchristian 
tongue  has  so  distorted  the  beautiful  name  of 
the  evangelist?" 

"That  is  French,"  explained  the  suitor;  "but 
I  promise  you  solemnly  that  in  future  I  will 
always  be  called  John  instead,  if  I  attain  the 
object  of  my  desires." 

"  Give  me  your  hand  on  it,  John,"  said  Mr. 
Lacknail.  Then  he  opened  the  door  and  called, 
"Elizabeth,  come  in  here!"  And  a  few  mo- 
ments later  the  two  were  in  each  other's  em- 
brace, and  the  third  was  wiping  his  eyes. 


THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS.  207 

The  happiness  of  the  betrothed,  the  joy  of 
the  father  when  he  went  to  church  with  his  four 
evangelists  to  attend  the  wedding,  and  what  fol- 
lowed—  all  that  the  reader  must  picture  to  him- 
self; my  pen  is  not  equal  to  it. 

At  the  present  time  Mr.  John  Obermuller 
is  the  proprietor  of  the  inn  of  the  Wild  Man, 
and  the  plump  wife  Elizabeth  stands  faithfully 
by  his  side.  They  already  have  two  big  boys; 
the  larger  one  is  called  Peter,  the  little  one 
James,  and  it  is  said  in  the  town  that  the 
couple  have  resolved  to  present  the  grandfather 
by  degrees  with  the  twelve  apostles. 


THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF. 


"YTTIIERE  the  mountains,  even  in  summer, 
wear  caps  of  snow,  where  the  hare  in 
winter  puts  on  a  white  coat,  and  the  crows  have 
yellow  bills,  there  grows  a  beautiful  tree  called 
the  Siberian  pine,  and  out  of  its  wood  the  people 
on  the  mountains  carve  animals,  both  wild  and 
domestic,  and  sell  them  to  the  city  people  for 
hard  cash. 

Such  a  tree,  and  assuredly  a  primeval  one, 
stood,  and  probably  still  stands  to-day,  on  a 
lonely  slope,  where,  in  summer,  thousands  and 
thousands  of  Alpine  roses  bloom.  From  its 
branches  hung  long,  gray  beards  of  moss,  and 
its  mighty  roots  grasped  weather-beaten  boulders, 
between  which  the  narrow  entrance  to  a  cave 
could  be  seen.  The  cave  was  inhabited,  too, 
but  it  was  neither  a  badger  nor  a  bear  that 
dwelt  there,  but  a  gnome,  a  timid  dwarf. 

He  had  seen  better  days.     In   the  good  old 


THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF.         209 

times,  which  even  mountain  spirits  look  back  to 
with  regret,  he  wore  a  golden  crown,  and  the 
name  of  Laurin,  the  king  of  the  dwarfs,  was 
known  in  Germany  and  in  Italy.  The  whole 
range  of  mountains,  with  their  underground 
marvels,  was  his,  and  in  the  upper  world  he 
had  laid  out  a  pleasure  garden  for  his  enjoyment, 
where  the  most  glorious  roses  shed  their  perfume, 
and  from  the  roses  hung  little  golden  bells,  which 
rang  sweetly  in  the  wind.  But  his  underground 
treasures  and  his  beautiful  garden  did  not  sat- 
isfy the  dwarf.  He  yearned  for  a  woman's  love, 
and,  violent  as  he  was,  he  stole  away  the  beau- 
tiful Similde  von  Steier,  to  make  her  queen  of 
the  dwarfs;  and  that  was  his  ruin. 

Mourning  and  weeping  sat  the  stolen  beauty  in 
the  magic  castle  of  the  mountain,  and  all  the 
jewels  which  the  dwarf  laid  at  her  feet  could  not 
turn  her  thoughts.  But  it  grew  still  worse.  One 
day  when  King  Laurin  visited  his  pleasure  garden, 
there  arose  from  the  crushed  roses  the  huge  forms 
of  giants  in  armor,  and  Dietleib,  poor  Similde's 
betrothed,  and  his  master,  the  mighty  Dietrich 
of  Berne,  fell  upon  him  with  their  swords  till  he 
lost  sight  and  hearing.  They  set  free  the  stolen 
Similde  and  took  the  dwarf  away  with  them 


210          THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF. 

prisoner,  and  compelled  him  to  serve  as  jester  at 
the  court  of  Lombardy  for  the  amusement  of  his 
captors.  All  this  happened  many  hundred  years 
ago,  and  stands  written  in  detail  in  an  ancient 
book.  Later,  when  everything  was  topsy-turvy  in 
Italy,  Laurin  was  released,  and  ever  after  lie  dwelt 
in  the  wilderness,  a  solitary,  embittered,  mountain 
dwarf. 

Usually,  whenever  he  slipped  out  of  his  cavern, 
and  sat  sunning  himself  under  the  Siberian  pine- 
tree,  he  wore  his  magic  cap  which  made  him 
invisible,  but  sometimes  he  took  it  off,  and  thus 
it  happened  that  the  people  on  the  mountain  knew 
him  very  well.  Shepherds,  root-diggers,  huntsmen, 
and  other  honest  people  had  often  seen  him,  as  he 
sat  on  the  mountain-side,  and  gazed  listlessly  into 
the  blue  distance.  He  appeared  there  like  a  little 
man  about  an  ell  high,  with  wrinkled  face  and 
long,  gray  beard,  and  because  he  generally  stayed 
under  the  pine-tree,  the  people,  who  knew  nothing 
of  his  splendid  past,  called  him  "  Zirbel." 

People  tell  of  kindly  gnomes  who  make  presents 
to  poor  people  of  fir  cones  or  the  branches  of 
trees,  which  afterwards  change  to  gold.  The 
sullen  Zirbel  did  nothing  of  that  sort,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  never  played  tricks  on  anybody, 


THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF.         211 

but  let  the  people  who  passed  to  and  fro  in  his 
wilderness  go  their  way  unmolested.  And  thus 
many  years  passed  by.  . 

One  day  Zirbel  was  lying,  as  he  often  did,  under 
his  tree,  sunning  himself  in  the  morning  sunlight, 
and  gazing  up  at  the  circle  of  white,  snow-covered 
mountains,  and  the  gold  cloud-boats  gliding  along 
slowly  in  the  sky. 

Two  mortals  came  climbing  up  the  mountain, 
and  the  dwarf  quickly  put  on  his  magic  cap.  It 
was  an  old  peasant  with  a  young,  rosy-cheeked 
maiden,  —  father  and  daughter.  Both  were  heavily 
laden,  but  they  walked  easily  up  the  mountain 
under  their  burdens. 

Above  the  old  pine-tree,  where  there  is  a  hollow 
place  in  the  mountain,  the  old  man  stopped  and 
said,  "  Lisi,  we  will  stay  here  " ;  and  then  he  began 
to  fashion  a  house.  He  piled  up  stones,  and  out 
of  branches  and  large  pieces  of  bark,  which  he 
broke  off  from  the  fallen,  decaying  trunks,  he 
built  a  hut,  large  enough  to  shelter  a  man  from 
wind  and  rain.  In  the  mean  while  the  maiden  was 
not  idle,  but  filled  a  basket  with  flowers ;  these 
she  thought  of  selling  in  the  Blue  Steinboc  down 
below. 

The  Blue  Steinboc  —  this  was  the  name  of  an 


212          THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF. 

Alpine  inn,  which  stood  about  three  miles  distant 
from  the  pine-tree  —  was  full  of  summer  visitors, 
who  were  enjoying  the  mountain  air  and  water, 
caught  trout,  and  feasted  on  venison  which  was 
really  only  mutton.  They  wore  jaunty  feathers  in 
their  hats,  and  gave  many  bright  silver  pieces  for 
edelweiss  and  little  twigs  of  the  sweet-scented  rue. 
The  flowers  they  put  in  their  red  pocket-books, 
and  afterwards,  at  home,  told  of  the  dangers  they 
experienced  in  gathering  them. 

The  dwarf  regarded  the  beautiful  maiden  with 
satisfaction,  and  for  the  first  time  in  many  years 
a  friendly  griu  passed  over  his  face. 

When  the  sun  reached  the  zenith  the  old  man 
had  finished  his  work.  He  called  the  maiden, 
and  they  two  ate  the  dinner  she  had  brought  with 
her.  Then  the  beautiful  girl  departed  and  went 
with  her  basket  down  into  the  valley,  while  her 
father  stayed  behind  and  went  about  his  work.  He 
was  a  pitch-burner  by  trade,  and  had  built  his 
hut  on  the  mountain  in  order  to  gather  the  pitch 
oozing  from  the  evergreen  trees. 

The  next  day  the  fair-haired  Lisi  came  back 
again  to  bring  food  to  her  father  and  to  gather 
flowers.  But  Zirbel  had  stirred  the  earth-fires 
during  the  night;  thousands  and  thousands  of 


THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF.         213 

flowers  had  sprung  up,  and  now  stars  and  bells 
fresh  with  dew  adorned  the  green  pasture  in  such 
abundance  that  the  maiden  was  able  to  reap  a 
rich  harvest.  The  dwarf  followed  closely  on  her 
footsteps,  unseen,  and  took  delight  in  her  dili- 
gence, often  coming  so  near  her  that  he  might 
have  brushed  her  flaxen  hair  with  his  hand ;  but 
this  he  did  not  do  lest  he  should  frighten  the 
charming  child.  When  Lisi  went  away  again,  he 
stood  on  a  rock  a  long  time,  looking  after  her; 
then  he  crept  contented  into  his  crevice  and 
waited  with  delight  for  the  next  morning. 

The  morning  came  and  the  lovely  Lisi  came 
too;  but  with  her  came  another,  a  dark  lad  in 
hunting-dress ;  and  when  Zirbel  saw  him,  he  made 
up  a  face  as  though  he  had  bitten  a  green  crab- 
apple. 

The  young  huntsman  had  his  arm  around  the 
lovely  girl's  waist,  and  in  this  way  they  came  up 
to  the  old  man,  who  was  sitting  before  his  hut, 
and  the  old  man  seemed  to  approve  of  their 
familiarity,  for  when  they  kissed  each  other  he 
laughed ;  but  everything  turned  green  and  yellow 
before  the  dwarf's  eyes.  Then  the  young  people 
sat  down  on  the  trunk  of  a  tree  and  sang  songs 
of  true  love,  and  the  father  hummed  softly  with 


214          THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF. 

them,  and  then  they  began  to  bill  and  coo  again 
like  two  pigeons. 

These  were  terrible  hours  for  poor  Zirbel,  and 
he  would  have  liked  to  come  between  the  pair 
with  thunder  and  lightning,  but  he  restrained 
himself.  At  last  the  lovers  took  their  departure 
and  went  away  together,  while  the  father  stood 
on  the  mountain-side  and  gazed  after  them. 

Then  suddenly  there  stood  before  him,  as 
though  sprung  up  out  of  the  ground,  Zirbel,  the 
dwarf.  The  old  man  was  indeed  frightened,  but 
he  collected  himself,  and  took  off  his  hat  with  a 
bow  and  a  scrape. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?  "  asked  the  dwarf. 

"You  are  none  other  than  Herr  Zirbel,"  re- 
plied the  pitch-burner.  "  Pardon  me  if  I  do  not 
call  you  by  your  right  name." 

"  Zirbel ;  yes ;  that  is  what  they  call  me.  And 
what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Peter." 

"Well,  Master  Peter,  you  have  a  beautiful 
daughter  —  " 

"  Have  you  seen  her  ? "  interrupted  the  father 
with  delight.  "  Beautiful  she  is,  and  good  she 
is,  too ;  but,"  he  continued  with  a  sigh,  "  poor,  — 
poorer  than  a  church  mouse ;  and  her  lover,  the 


THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF.         215 

huntsman,  has  nothing  but  his  strong  limbs. — 
O  Herr  Zirbel !  Don't  you  know  some  buried 
treasure  or  a  gold  mine  or  something  else  ?  That 
would  be  very  convenient  for  the  dowry." 

The  dwarf  nodded  his  head  emphatically. 
"Come  with  me,  Master  Peter,  if  you  are  not 
afraid ;  I  will  show  you  something  that  will 
make  your  mouth  water." 

Peter  did  not  have  to  be  asked  a  second  time. 
He  threw  his  bag  over  his  shoulder,  and  with 
joyful  expectation  followed  Zirbel,  who  went  on 
ahead. 

At  the  foot  of  the  old  tree  the  dwarf  stopped. 
"  The  way  is  in  through  there,"  he  said,  point- 
ing to  the  entrance  of  the  cavern.  "Come  after 
me,  Master  Peter !  "  Having  said  this  he  slipped 
like  a  marmot  into  the  den,  and  the  pitch-burner 
crept  in  behind  him.  At  first  the  entrance  was 
very  narrow,  and  Peter  gave  his  head  a  hard  bump 
twice;  but  soon  the  hole  grew  wider,  and  after 
a  short  time  they  reached  a  high,  roomy  cave, 
and  it  was  light  here,  too,  for  blue  flames  flick- 
ered on  every  side. 

"Now  just  look  about  you!"  commanded  the 
dwarf;  and  the  old  man  did  as  he  was  told,  but 
it  was  some  time  before  his  eyes  became  accus- 


216          THE   DISAPPOINTED  DWARF. 

tomed  to  the  glittering  splendor.  A  network  of 
threads  of  gold  covered  the  walls,  and  from  the 
ceiling  hung  points  of  silver,  wonderfully  formed, 
like  stalactites.  On  the  floor  of  the  cave  stood 
a  large  copper  kettle,  filled  to  the  brim  with 
heavy  pieces  of  silver.  Oh,  how  Peter  opened 
his  eyes  at  this! 

But  the  dwarf  began  to  speak,  saying,  "  All 
the  treasures  that  you  see  hoarded  here  shall  be 
your  daughter's  wedding  portion  —  on  one  con- 
dition." 

"  Let  me  hear  it,  Herr  Zirbel ! "  cried  the 
father,  wild  with  delight. 

"  Your  daughter,"  said  the  dwarf  impressively, 
"  must  give  up  the  huntsman  and  —  " 

"  Herr  Zirbel,  that  cannot  be." 

"  It  must  be.  I  will  give  the  huntsman  as 
much  silver  as  he  can  carry  to  compensate  him, 
—  such  a  young  fellow  will  easily  console  him- 
self with  another  pretty  girl,  —  and  I  will  provide 
another  husband  for  your  daughter.  To  be 
plain,  Master  Peter,  I  myself  will  be  your  son- 
in-law.  Have  you  any  objection  to  that?" 

The  pitch-burner  was  greatly  frightened,  but 
he  composed  himself ;  with  rich  men  and  gnomes 
it  is  not  well  to  quarrel.  "  Herr  Zirbel,"  he 


THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF.         217 

said,  "  I,  for  my  part,  have  nothing  against  you ; 
you  are  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  are  able 
to  take  care  of  a  wife ;  but  —  maidens  see  with 
different  eyes  from  old  graybeards.  Do  you 
understand  me?" 

But  Zirbel  went  on  talking  to  the  old  man, 
and  at  the  same  time  scooped  up  silver  pieces 
out  of  the  kettle,  letting  them  fall  back  again 
like  rain,  till  poor  Peter's  head  was  all  in  a 
whirl.  Suddenly  a  bright  thought  came  to  him. 
He  appeared  as  if  he  were  going  to  give  his  con- 
sent, and  said  artfully:  — 

"  Well,  Herr  Zirbel,  I  will  take  you  to  my 
daughter.  You  shall  see  her  at  home,  at  her 
work ;  and  then,  if  you  still  wish  to  make  her 
your  wife,  I  will,  as  her  father,  say  'yes  and 
amen,'  and  bring  the  maiden  to  you  whenever 
you  please.  For  the  huntsman  you  must  give 
me  as  much  silver  as  I  can  carry  away  on  my 
back.  But  if  you,  of  your  own  free  will,  back 
out  of  the  undertaking,  then  the  money  shall 
be  mine.  Here  is  my  bag  —  if  you  are  agreed, 
allow  me  to  fill  it  immediately  with  your  silver." 

Zirbel  was  highly  delighted  with  this  propo- 
sition. He  shoved  the  silver  pieces  into  the  bag 
with  his  own  hands,  and  on  the  top  he  laid  a 


218         THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF. 

sparkling  bracelet  as  a  bridal  gift.  Then  they 
crept  out  into  the  daylight  again,  and  Peter 
shouldered  the  precious  burden.  The  dwarf  took 
his  future  father-in-law  by  the  arm  and  walked 
along  beside  him. 

After  they  had  been  gone  a  good  half  hour, 
they  came  into  the  vicinity  of  the  summer  resort, 
the  Blue  Steiiiboc.  They  passed  guide-posts  and 
rustic  seats  bearing  such  names  as  Elsa's  Rest, 
Olga's  Seat,  Adele's  Hill,  and  other  inscriptions, 
and  suddenly  they  saw  the  bright  garments  of 
a  woman  gleaming  through  the  trees. 

"  I  will  make  myself  invisible,"  said  Zirbel, 
putting  on  his  magic  cap.  Then  both  stepped 
nearer. 

The  woman's  back  was  turned  towards  the 
wanderers.  She  was  sitting  on  a  camp-stool,  and 
had  a  frame  before  her,  such  as  Zirbel  had  never 
seen  before.  With  curiosity  he  approached  the 
lady  with  his  companion,  and  looked  at  what  she 
was  doing.  On  a  frame  stood  a  tablet,  which 
she  had  painted  over,  green  on  the  lower  part, 
and  blue  on  the  upper  part;  in  the  background 
was  something  like  a  white  nightcap ;  in  the 
foreground  a  rose-colored  beast  with  horns  and 
a  bell  at  the  neck. 


THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF,         219 

"What  is  she  doing?"  asked  Zirbel. 

"  She  is  painting,"  replied  Peter.  "  She  paints 
the  mountains,  the  trees,  animals,  and  people. 
Just  look  at  it  closely,  Herr  Zirbel.  That  white 
thing  is  the  mountain  yonder  with  its  snow,  and 
the  red  beast  is  a  cow." 

Zirbel  examined  the  painting,  and  shook  his 
big  head  thoughtf  ully ;  then  he  said  :  — 

"  Master  Peter,  tell  me,  pray, 
Does  Lisi  too  paint  pictures  gay?" 

And  Peter  replied :  — 

"  Pictures  all  the  day  paints  she, 
Greener  far  than  celery." 

Then  the  dwarf  muttered  something  in  his 
beard  that  Peter  did  not  understand,  and  drew 
his  companion  away  with  him. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  met  a  second  lady ; 
she  was  sitting  on  a  moss-covered  rock,  and  gaz- 
ing with  glassy  eyes  up  at  the  blue  sky.  In  her 
left  hand  she  had  a  book,  on  which  was  written 
in  golden  letters,  "  Poetry,"  and  in  her  right  hand 
she  held  a  pencil,  with  which  she  occasionally 
wrote  something  in  the  book.  After  a  while  she 
arose  and  read  in  a  loud  voice :  — 


220          THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF. 

"  Ah,  if  I  were  a  birdling  free, 
Ah,  if  I  soared  on  tiny  wing, 
Beloved,  in  my  bill  I'd  bring 
A  sweet  forget-me-not  to  thee." 

"  What  is  the  poor  thing  trying  to  do  ?  "  asked 
the  dwarf  compassionately. 

"  She  is  making  poetry,"  explained  Peter. 
"  She  is  a  poetess ;  that  is,  she  makes  rhymes, 
writes  them  in  her  book,  and  reads  them  aloud." 

Then  Zirbel  whispered  anxiously  :  — 

"  Master  Peter,  truly  tell, 
Does  lovely  Lisi  rhyme  as  well?" 

And  Peter  replied :  — 

"When  she  is  tired  of  painting,  'tis  true 
She  scribbles  rhymes  and  reads  them  too." 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Zirbel,  with  a  deep  sigh. 
"  Come,  let  us  go  along."  And  they  went  on. 

The  sun  went  down  to  the  edge  of  the  moun- 
tains, the  birds  stopped  singing,  and  through 
the  forest  sounded  the  bells  of  the  home-return- 
ing cattle.  Through  the  fir-trees  appeared  the 
shingled  roof  of  the  Blue  Steinboc,  and  from  all 
sides  the  hungry  guests  were  hurrying  towards  the 
hospitable  abode.  All  of  a  sudden,  as  Peter  and 


THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF.         221 

his  invisible  companion  came  within  a  few  steps 
of  the  house,  there  sounded  through  the  evening 
stillness  such  a  clangorous  jangling  and  drum- 
ming that  Zirbel  started  in  affright. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  the  old  man,  assuringly. 
"If  you  get  up  on  the  stone  seat  and  look  in  at 
the  window,  you  will  see  where  the  noise  comes 
from." 

The  dwarf  got  up  on  the  bench,  and  looked 
into  the  lighted  hall.  "I  see  two  women,"  he 
said  softly,  "  who  are  pounding  around  with 
their  hands  on  a  chest.  Oh,  it  is  horrible  to  see, 
and  still  more  horrible  to  hear!  Tell  me,  Peter, 
what  it  means." 

"  What  does  it  mean  ? "  replied  the  pitch- 
burner.  "They  are  playing  the  piano-forte,  as 
it  is  called." 

Then  said  Zirbel,  in  a  trembling  voice :  — 

"  Master  Peter,  tell  me  in  short, 
Does  Lisi  play  the  piano-forte?" 

And  Peter  answered :  — 

"  If  she  can't  paint  or  rhyme,  she'll  play 
On  her  piano  the  livelong  day." 

The  dwarf  groaned  like  a  falling  tree,  and  be- 
came silent. 


222          THE  DISAPPOINTED  DWARF. 

"Herr  Zirbel,"  suggested  Peter  after  a  while, 
in  a  suppressed  voice,  "Herr  Zirbel,  we  ought 
to  be  going." 

No  answer. 

The  old  man  felt  about  in  the  place  where  the 
voice  of  the  invisible  dwarf  had  last  come  from, 
but  his  hand  only  grasped  the  air. 

He  called  louder,  "  Herr  Zirbel,  where  are  you? 
It  will  soon  be  night,  and  we  have  still  far  to  go." 

Then  there  came  a  gust  of  wind  from  the 
mountain,  and  these  words  fell  on  Peter's  ear:  — 

"  Master  Peter,  the  bag  is  thine, 
But  you  may  keep  your  daughter  fine." 

The  crafty  Peter  would  have  leaped  for  joy,  if 
the  heavy  bag  of  silver  had  not  prevented  him. 
He  waved  his  hat  gratefully  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  words  had  sounded,  then  he  started 
along,  and  hurried  as  fast  as  he  could  towards  the 
valley. 

The  story  is  ended,  for  you  can  easily  imagine 
what  happened  further.  The  beautiful  Lisi  kept 
her  huntsman,  and  if  they  are  not  dead  — 

But  the  dwarf  Zirbel  was  unmarried,  and  re- 
mained so  to  his  dying  day. 


THE  EGYPTIAN  FIKE-EATEB. 


"  "VTEXT  Easter  he  must  go  to  N to  school. 

—  Fact.  —  It  is  high  time ;  he  is  eleven 
years  old,  and  here  he  is  running  wild  with  the 
street-boys.  —  That's  what  I  say." 

He,  that  is,  I,  hung  my  head,  and  I  felt  more 
like  crying  than  laughing.  I  had  passed  eleven 
sunny  boyhood  years  in  the  little  country  town,  I 
stood  in  high  esteem  among  my  playmates,  and 
would  rather  be  the  first  in  the  ranks  of  my  birth- 
place than  second  in  the  metropolis. 

Through  the  gray  mist,  which  surrounded  my 
near  future  like  a  thick  fog,  gleamed  only  one 
light,  but  a  bright,  attractive  light ;  that  was  the 
theatre,  the  splendor  of  which  I  had  already 
learned  to  know.  The  white  priests  in  the  "Magic 
Flute,"  Sarastro's  lions,  the  fire-spitting  serpents, 
and  the  gay,  merry  Papageno,  — such  things  could 
not  be  seen  at  home ;  and  when  my  parents  prom- 
ised me  occasional  visits  to  the  theatre,  as  a  re- 


224         THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER. 

ward  for  diligence  in  study  and  exemplary  conduct, 
I  left  the  Eden  of  my  childhood,  half  consoled. 

Young  trees,  transplanted  at  the  proper  time, 
soon  take  root.  After  a  tearful  farewell  to  my 
friends  and  a  slight  attack  of  home-sickness,  I  was 
quite  content.  I  was  received  into  the  second 
class  at  the  gymnasium,  and  drank  eagerly  of  the 
fountain  of  knowledge ;  a  certain  Frau  Eberlein, 
with  whom  I  found  board  and  lodging,  cared  for 
my  bodily  welfare. 

She  was  a  widow,  and  kept  a  little  store,  in 
which,  with  the  assistance  of  a  shop-girl,  she  served 
customers,  who  called  from  morning  to  night.  She 
dealt  principally  in  groceries  and  vegetables,  but 
besides  these,  every  conceivable  thing  was  found 
piled  up  in  her  shop :  knitting-yarn,  sheets  of  pict- 
ures, slate-pencils,  cheese,  pen-knives,  balls  of  twine, 
herring,  soap,  buttons,  writing-paper,  glue,  hair- 
pins, cigar-holders,  oranges,  fly-poison,  brushes, 
varnish,  gingerbread,  tin  soldiers,  corks,  tallow 
candles,  tobacco-pouches,  thimbles,  gum-balls,  and 
torpedoes.  Besides,  she  prepared  by  means  of 
essences,  peach  brandy,  maraschino,  ros  solis,  and 
other  liqueurs,  as  well  as  an  excellent  ink,  in  the 
manufacture  of  which  I  used  to  help  her.  She 
rejoiced  in  considerable  prosperity,  lived  well,  and 
did  not  let  me  want  for  anything. 


THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER.        225 

My  passion  for  the  theatre  was  a  source  of  great 
anxiety  to  good  Frau  Eberlein.  She  did  not  have 
a  very  good  opinion  of  the  art  in  general,  but 
the  comedy  she  despised  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart.  Therefore  she  made  my  visiting  the  theatre 
as  difficult  as  possible,  and  it  was  only  after  long 
discussions,  and  after  the  shop-girl  had  added  her 
voice,  that  she  would  hand  over  the  necessary- 
amount  for  purchasing  a  ticket.  The  shop-girl  was 
an  oldish  person,  as  thin  as  a  giraffe  which  had 
fasted  for  a  long  time,  and  was  very  well  read. 
She  subscribed  regularly  to  a  popular  periodical 
with  the  motto,  "Culture  is  freedom,"  and  Frau 
Eberlein  was  influenced  somewhat  by  her  judg- 
ment. This  kind-hearted  woman  was  friendly 
towards  me,  and  as  often  as  her  employer  asked, 
"Is  the  play  a  proper  one  for  young  people?" 
she  would  answer,  "  Yes,"  and  Frau  Eberlein  would 
have  to  let  me  go. 

Those  were  glorious  evenings.  Long  before  it 
was  time  for  the  play  to  begin,  I  was  in  my  seat 
in  the  gallery,  looking  down  from  my  dizzy  height, 
into  the  house,  still  unlighted.  Now  a  servant 
comes  and  lights  the  lamps  in  the  orchestra.  The 
parquet  and  the  upper  seats  fill,  but  the  reserved 
seats  and  the  boxes  are  still  empty.  Now  it  sud- 


226         THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER. 

denly  grows  light;  the  chandelier  comes  down 
from  an  opening  in  the  ceiling.  The  musicians 
appeal-  and  tune  their  instruments.  It  makes  a 
horrible  discord,  but  still  it  is  beautiful.  The 
doors  slam ;  handsomely  dressed  ladies,  in  white 
cloaks,  gay  officers,  and  civilians  in  stiff  black 
and  white  evening  dress  take  their  seats  in  the 
boxes.  The  conductor  mounts  his  elevated  seat 
and  now  it  begins.  The  overture  is  terribly  long, 
but  it  comes  to  an  end.  Ting-aling-aling,  —  the 
curtain  rises.  Ah  !  — 

I  soon  decided  in  my  own  mind  that  it  should 
be  my  destiny,  sometime,  to  delight  the  audience 
from  the  stage,  but  I  was  still  undecided  whether 
I  would  devote  myself  to  the  drama  or  the  opera, 
for  it  seemed  to  me  an  equally  desirable  lot  to 
shoot  charmed  bullets  in  "Der  Freischutz"  or, 
hidden  behind  elderberry  bushes,  to  shoot  at 
tyrannical  Geslers  in  "  William  Tell."  In  the 
mean  time  I  learned  TelPs  monologue,  "  Along 
this  narrow  path  the  man  must  come,"  by  heart, 
and  practised  the  aria,  "  Through  the  forest, 
through  the  meadows." 

Providence  seemed  to  favor  my  plan,  for  it 
led  me  into  an  acquaintance  with  a  certain  Lipp, 
who,  on  account  of  his  connections,  was  in  a 
position  to  pave  my  way  to  the  stage. 


THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER.        227 

Lipp  was  a  tall,  slender  youth,  about  sixteen 
years  old,  with  terribly  large  feet  and  hands. 
He  usually  wore  a  very  faded,  light-blue  coat, 
the  sleeves  of  which  hardly  came  below  his  el- 
bows, and  a  red  vest.  He  had  a  rather  stoop- 
ing gait,  and  a^  beaming  smile  continually  played 
about  his  mouth.  Besides,  the  poor  fellow  was 
always  hungry,  and  it  was  this  peculiarity  which 
brought  about  our  acquaintance. 

On  afternoons  when  there  was  no  school,  and 
I  went  out  on  the  green  to  play  ball  with  my 
companions  or  fly  my  kite,  Frau  Eberleiu  used 
to  put  something  to  eat  in  my  pocket.  Lipp 
soon  spied  it  out,  and  he  knew  how  to  get  a 
part,  or  even  the  whole  of  my  luncheon  for  him- 
self. He  would  pick  up  a  pebble  off  the  ground, 
slip  it  from  one  hand  to  the  other  several  times, 
then  place  one  fist  above  the  other,  saying :  — 

"This  hand,  or  that? 
Burned  is  the  tail  of  the  cat. 
Which  do  you  choose? 
Upper  or  under  will  lose!" 

If  I  said  "  upper,"  the  stone  was  always  in  the 
lower  hand,  and  vice  versa.  And  Lipp  would  take 
my  apple  from  me  with  a  smile,  and  devour  it  as  if 
he  were  half  famished. 


228         THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER. 

Why  did  I  allow  it  ?  In  the  first  place,  because 
Lipp  was  beyond  me  in  years  and  in  strength,  and 
in  the  second  place,  because  he  was  the  son  of  a 
very  important  personage.  His  father  was  nothing 
less  than  the  door-keeper  of  the  theatre ;  a  splendid 
man  with  a  shining  red  nose  and  coal-black  beard 
reaching  to  his  waist.  The  wise  reader  now  knows 
how  young  Lipp  came  by  a  light  blue  coat  and  red 
vest. 

My  new  friend  from  his  earliest  years  had  been 
constantly  on  the  stage.  He  played  the  gamin  in 
folk-scenes  and  the  monster  in  burlesques.  Be- 
sides, he  was  an  adept  at  thunder  and  lightning ; 
by  means  of  cracking  a  whip  and  the  close  imi- 
tation of  the  neighing  of  horses,  he  announced  the 
approaching  stage-coach ;  he  lighted  the  moon  in 
"  Der  Freischiitz  " ;  and  with  a  kettle  and  pair  of 
tongs  gave  forewarning  of  the  witches'  hour. 
When  I  opened  my  heart  to  Lipp  and  confided  to 
him  that  I  wanted  to  go  on  the  stage,  he  reached 
out  his  broad  hand  to  me  with  emotion  and  said, 
"And  so  do  I."  Hereupon  we  swore  eternal 
friendship,  and  Lipp  promised  as  soon  as  possible 
to  procure  me  an  opportunity  for  putting  my 
dramatic  qualifications  to  the  test.  From  that 
hour  his  manner  changed  towards  me.  Before, 


THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER.        229 

he  had  treated  me  with  some  condescension,  but 
now  his  behavior  towards  me  was  more  like  that 
of  a  colleague.  Moreover,  the  game  of  chance 
for  my  lunch  came  to  an  end,  for  from  that  time 
forth  I  shared  it  with  him  like  a  brother. 

The  fine  fellow  kept  his  promise  to  make  a 
way  for  me  to  go  on  the  stage.  A  fe"w  evenings 
later  ("  Der  Freischiitz  "  was  being  played)  I  stood 
with  a  beating  heart  behind  the  scenes,  and  friend 
Lipp  stood  by  my  side.  In  my  hand  I  held  a 
string,  with  which  I  set  the  wings  of  the  owl  in 
the  wolf's  glen  in  rhythmic  motion.  My  com- 
panion performed  the  wild  chase.  By  turns  he 
whistled  through  his  fingers,  cracked  a  whip,  and 
imitated  the  yelping  of  the  hounds.  It  was  awfully 
fine. 

"  You  did  your  part  splendidly,"  said  Lipp  to 
me  at  the  end  of  the  scene ;  "  next  time  you  must 
go  out  on  the  stage." 

I  swam  in  a  sea  of  delight.  A  short  time  after, 
"  Preciosa "  was  given,  and  Lipp  told  me  that  I 
could  play  the  gypsy  boy.  They  put  a  white  frock 
on  me  and  wound  red  bands  crosswise  about  my 
legs.  Then  a  chorister  took  me  by  the  hand  and 
led  me  up  and  down  the  back  of  the  stage  two  or 
three  times.  That  was  my  first  appearance. 


230         THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER. 

It  was  also  my  last.  The  affair  became  known. 
In  school  I  received  a  severe  reprimand,  and  in 
addition,  as  a  consequence  of  the  airy  gypsy 
costume,  a  cold  with  a  cough,  which  kept  me  in 
bed  for  a  day  or  two. 

"  It  serves  you  right,"  said  Frau  Eberlein.  "  He 
who  will  not  hear  must  feel.  This  comes  from 
playing  in  the  theatre.  If  your  blessed  grand- 
mother knew  that  you  had  been  with  play-actors 
she  would  turn  in  her  grave." 

Crushed  and  humiliated,  I  swallowed  the  vari- 
ous teas  which  my  nurse  steeped  for  me  one  after 
another.  But  with  each  cup  I  had  to  listen  to 
an  instructive  story  about  the  depravity  of  actors. 
In  order  to  lead  me  back  from  the  way  of  the 
transgressors  to  the  path  of  virtue,  Frau  Eber- 
lein painted  with  glowing  colors;  one  story  in 
particular,  in  which  occurred  three  bottles  of 
punch-essence  never  paid  for,  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  me.  But  Frau  Eberlein's  anecdotes 
failed  to  make  me  change  my  resolves. 

Soon  after,  something  very  serious  happened. 
Lipp's  father,  the  door-keeper  of  the  theatre,  after 
drinking  heavily,  fell  down  lifeless  by  the  card 
table  in  the  White  Horse;  and  my  friend,  in  con- 
sequence of  this  misfortune,  came  under  (he  con- 


THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER,        231 

trol  of  a  cold-hearted  guardian,  who  had  as  little 
comprehension  of  the  dramatic  art  as  Frau  Eber- 
lein.  Lipp  was  given  over  to  a  house-painter, 
who,  invested  with  extended  authority,  took  the 
unfortunate  fellow  as  an  apprentice. 

Lipp  was  inconsolable  at  the  change  in  his  lot. 
The  smile  disappeared  from  his  face,  and  I  too 
felt  melancholy  when  I  saw  him  going  along  the 
street  in  his  paint-bespattered  clothes,  the  picture 
of  despair. 

One  day  I  met  the  poor  fellow  outside  the  city 
gate,  where  the  last  houses  stand,  painting  a 
garden  fence  with  an  arsenic-green  color.  "  My 
good  friend,"  he  said,  with  a  melancholy  smile, 
"  I  cannot  give  you  my  hand,  for  there  is 
paint  on  it;  but  we  are  just  the  same  as  ever." 
Then  he  spoke  of  his  disappointed  hopes.  "  But," 
he  continued,  "because  they  are  deferred,  they 
are  not  put  off  forever,  and  these  clouds"  (by 
this  he  referred  to  his  present  apprenticeship  as 
painter)  "will  pass  away.  The  time  will  come  — 
I  say  no  more  about  it ;  but  the  time  will  come." 
Here  Lipp  stopped  speaking  and  dipped  his  brush 
in  the  paint  pot,  for  his  master  was  coming  around 
the  corner  of  the  house. 

One  day  Lipp  disappeared.      The  authorities 


232        THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER. 

did  everything  in  their  power  to  find  him,  but  in 
vain ;  and  since,  at  that  time,  the  river,  on  which 
the  city  stood,  had  overflowed  its  banks,  it  was 
decided  that  Lipp  had  perished.  The  only  per- 
son who  did  not  share  in  this  opinion  was  my- 
self. I  had  a  firm  conviction  that  he  had  gone 
out  into  the  wide  world  to  seek  his  fortune,  and 
that  some  day  he  would  turn  up  again  as  a  cele- 
brated artist  and  a  successful  man.  But  year 
after  year  passed  by  and  nothing  was  heard  of 
Lipp. 

I  had  entered  upon  my  fifteenth  year,  was 
reading  Virgil  and  Xenophon,  and  could  enume- 
rate the  causes  which  brought  the  Roman  empire 
to  ruin.  But  in  the  midst  of  my  classical  studies, 
I  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  real  aim  of  my  life, 
the  dramatic  art ;  and  as  the  stage  had  been 
closed  to  me  since  my  first  appearance,  I  studied 
in  my  own  room  the  roles  in  which  I  hoped  to 
shine  later.  Then  I  had  already  tried  my  skill 
as  a  dramatic  author,  and  in  my  writing-desk 
lay  concealed  a  finished  tragedy.  It  was  enti- 
tled "  Pharaoh."  In  it  occurred  the  seven  plagues 
of  Egypt  and  the  miracles  of  Moses;  but  Pha- 
raoh's destruction  in  the  Red  Sea  formed  the 
finale  from  which  I  promised  myself  the  most 
brilliant  success. 


THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER.        233 

Therefore  I  went  about  dressed  as  a  regular 
artist.  My  schoolmates  imitated  the  University 
students,  —  wore  gay-colored  caps,  dark  golden- 
red  bands,  and  carried  canes  adorned  with  tas- 
sels; but  I  wore  over  my  wild  hair  a  pointed 
Calabrian  hat,  around  my  neck  a  loose  silk  hand- 
kerchief fastened  together  in  an  artistic  knot, 
and  in  unpleasant  weather  a  cloak,  the  red-lined 
corner  of  which  I  threw  picturesquely  over  my 
left  shoulder. 

In  this  attire  I  went  about  in  my  native  town, 
where  I  was  accustomed  to  spend  my  summer 
vacations.  The  boys  on  the  street  made  sport 
of  me  by  their  words  and  actions,  but  I  thought, 
"What  does  the  moon  care  when  the  dog  bays 
at  her ! "  and  holding  my  head  high,  I  walked  past 
the  scoffers. 

Every  year,  in  the  month  of  August,  a  fair 
was  held  in  the  little  town.  On  the  common, 
tents  and  arbors  were  put  up,  where  beer  and 
sausages  were  furnished.  Further  entertainment 
was  provided  in  the  way  of  rope-dancers,  jugglers, 
a  Punch-and-Judy  show,  fortune-tellers,  monstrosi- 
ties, wax  figures,  and  tragedies. 

As  a  spoiled  city  youth,  T  considered  it  de- 
cidedly beneath  my  dignity  to  take  part  in  the 


234         THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER. 

people's  merrymaking;  but  I  couldn't  get  out  of 
it,  and  so  I  went  with  my  parents  and  brothers 
and  sisters  to  the  opening  of  the  festival  out  in 
the  park,  and  walked  more  proudly  than  ever 
under  my  Calabrian  hat. 

The  sights  were  inspected  one  after  another, 
and  in  the  evening  we  all  sat  together  in  the 
front  row  of  a  booth,  the  proprietor  of  which 
promised  to  exhibit  the  most  extraordinary  thing 
that  had  ever  been  seen. 

The  spectacle  was  divided  into  three  parts. 
In  the  first  a  little  horse  with  a  large  head  was 
brought  out,  which  answered  any  questions  asked 
him  by  nodding,  shaking,  and  beating  his  hoofs. 
In  the  second  part  two  trained  hares  performed 
their  tricks.  With  their  forelegs  they  beat  the 
drum,  fired  off  pistols,  and  in  the  "Battle  with 
the  Hounds,"  they  put  to  flight  a  whining  terrier. 

The  proprietor  had  kept  the  best  of  all, — 
that  is,  the  Egyptian  fire-eater,  called  "Phos- 
phorus,"—  for  the  last  part.  The  curtain  went 
up  for  the  third  time,  and  on  the  stage,  in  fan- 
tastic scarlet  dress,  with  a  burning  torch  in  his 
left  hand,  there  stood  a  tall  —  ah !  a  form  only 
too  well  known  to  me.  It  was  Lipp,  who  had 
been  looked  upon  as  dead. 


THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER.        235 

I  saw  how  the  unfortunate  fellow  with  a  smile 
put  a  lump  of  burning  pitch  in  his  mouth,  and 
then  everything  began  to  swim  around  me,  I 
pulled  my  hat  down  over  my  eyes,  made  my  way 
through  the  crowd  howling  their  applause,  and 
staggered  home  exhausted. 

During  the  rest  of  the  festival  I  kept  myself 
in  strict  seclusion.  I  announced  that  I  was  not 
well,  and  this  was  really  no  untruth,  for  I  was 
very  miserable.  "  That  is  because  he  is  grow- 
ing," said  my  anxious  mother;  and  I  assented, 
and  swallowed  submissively  the  family  remedies 
which  she  brought  to  me. 

At  last  the  fair  was  over,  and  the  Egyptian 
fire-eater  had  left  the  town.  But  the  poor  fellow 
did  not  go  far.  In  the  city  where  he  exhibited 
his  skill  he  was  recognized  and  arrested,  because 
he  had  avoided  service  in  the  army.  To  be  sure, 
he  was  set  free  again  after  a  few  weeks  as  un- 
qualified ;  but  in  the  mean  time  his  employer  with 
the  performing  hares  had  gone  nobody  knew 
where,  and  Lipp  was  left  solely  dependent  on 
his  art,  which  he  practised  for  some  time  in  the 
neighboring  towns  and  villages. 

The  end  of  his  artistic  career  is  sad  and 
melancholy.  He  fell  a  victim  to  his  calling. 


236         THE  EGYPTIAN  FIRE-EATER. 

As  an  ambitious  man  he  enlarged  his  artistic 
capabilities ;  he  ate  not  only  pitch  but  also  pieces 
of  broken  glass,  and  an  indigestible  lamp-chimney 
was  the  cause  of  his  destruction. 

When  I  returned  to  the  city  I  burned  my 
tragedy  of  "  Pharoah,"  and  sold  my  cloak  and 
Calabrian  hat  to  an  old-clothes  dealer.  I  was 
thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  career  of  an  artist, 
and  whenever  afterwards  I  was  inclined  to  re- 
lapse, Frau  Eberlein  would  call  out  to  me,  "Do 
you,  too,  want  to  die  from  a  lamp-chimney?" 
Then  I  would  bend  my  head  and  bury  my  nose 
in  my  Greek  grammar. 


THE  WITCHING-STONE. 


/"^  AY  banners  were  waving  from  the  tower 
of  the  count's  castle,  and  from  the  sur- 
rounding villages  re-echoed  the  sound  of  merry 
bells.  Joy  had  come  to  be  a  guest  within  the 
castle  walls,  and  both  bond  and  free  in  that  do- 
main rejoiced  in  its  coming. 

The  young  countess  had  given  birth  to  an 
heir.  The  little  lord  was  healthy  and  finely 
formed,  made  the  walls  resound  with  his  strong 
voice,  and  vigorously  kicked  his  feet,  till  his 
father's  eyes  shone  with  delight. 

The  day  after  his  birth,  when  the  child  was 
taken  to  be  baptized,  the  count  dipped  deeply 
into  his  treasure  chest ;  all  the  servants  received 
holiday  clothes,  and  the  poor  in  the  land  loudly 
praised  their  master's  generosity.  Then  it  be- 
came quiet  in  the  castle.  The  boy  lay  peace- 
fully in  his  nurse's  arms,  and  his  mother,  Fran 
Goteliud,  looked  from  her  couch  with  a  proud, 


238  THE   WITCHING-STONE. 

blissful  smile  at  the  thriving  child.  She  was  a 
delicate  lady,  and  her  strength  came  back  slowly ; 
but  it  came,  thanks  to  careful  nursing  and  the 
appetizing  broths  made  for  her  by  old  Crescenz. 

She  was  a  wise-woman,  and  well  skilled  in 
caring  for  the  sick.  Therefore  the  count  had 
called  her  to  the  castle  and  intrusted  to  her  the 
nursing  of  his  wife.  But  the  servants  shook 
their  heads  thoughtfully  when  the  old  woman 
came  in,  for  what  people  said  of  her  was  not 
good.  Huntsmen  and  messengers  had  often  met 
her  in  the  moonlit  wood,  looking  for  herbs,  and 
it  was  rumored  that  she  could  conjure  up  storms 
and  dry  the  cows'  milk.  Therefore  the  men- 
servants  and  maids  timidly  avoided  her,  but 
scrupulously  followed  the  orders  which  she  gave. 

Frau  Crescenz  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen,  par- 
ing vegetables.  Near  her  stood  her  daughter 
Ortrun,  whom  she  had  brought  with  her  to  the 
castle,  that  she  might  help  her  in  her  work. 
The  daughter  was  a  tall,  well-developed  woman, 
with  raven-black  hair,  but  her  forehead  was 
low,  and  her  nose  as  flat  as  a  negro's.  She  had 
killed  and  plucked  a  chicken  to  make  some 
strengthening  broth  for  the  countess,  and  was 
just  cleaning  it. 


THE   WITCHING-STONE.  239 

"  Look,  mother,"  she  cried  suddenly ;  "  see 
what  is  in  the  chicken's  crop ;  he  had  swallowed 
a  stone." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  old  Crescenz,  with  curi- 
osity, and  Ortrun  handed  what  she  had  found 
to  her  mother.  It  was  a  white,  sparkling  stone, 
shaped  like  a  bean. 

"  Oh,  you  lucky  child ! "  cried  the  mother ; 
"that  is  a  jewel  more  precious  than  a  car- 
buncle or  a  diamond."  Then  she  looked  anx- 
iously about  her,  fearing  lest  a  third  person 
might  have  been  watching  them,  but,  besides 
the  two  women,  there  was  nobody  in  the  kitchen. 

"Dearest  daughter,"  continued  the  old  woman, 
—  and  her  eyes  shone  like  cats'  eyes,  —  "  the  stone 
will  bring  you  good  luck.  Keep  your  mouth 
shut  and  tell  no  human  being  anything  about 
the  chicken's  stone.  Conceal  it  well  in  your 
waist  and  guard  it  as  the  apple  of  your  eye. 
The  magic  which  the  jewel  contains  will  soon 
appear.  And  go  to  your  room  and  put  on  your 
holiday  gown  ;  to-day  you  shall  carry  to  the  count 
his  morning  drink." 

*  ** 

Where  the  deadly,  nightshade  grows,  there 
flowers  of  noble  birth  must  fade  away. 


240  THE   WITCHING-STONE. 

The  countess  had  long  since  recovered,  but 
she  went  about  sadly,  with  downcast  eyes.  Her 
husband's  love  had  gone  out  in  a  night  like  a 
candle  burnt  to  the  end,  and  she  knew,  too, 
who  had  caused  the  sudden  change.  The  dark 
Ortrun,  who,  by  her  husband's  command,  had 
been  made  her  stewardess,  had  captivated  the 
count.  She  carried  her  head  high,  and  gave 
commands  boldly  in  the  house,  as  though  she 
were  the  mistress.  Frau  Gotelind  sat  silent  and 
grieving  in  her  chamber  by  the  side  of  her  little 
son's  cradle,  and  at  night  her  pillow  was  wet 
with  tears.  But  when  the  nurse  gently  reproved 
her,  saying,  "  My  lady,  you  will  harm  the  child 
if  you  look  at  him  with  sorrowful  eyes,"  then 
the  unhappy  woman  would  compel  herself  to 
smile,  and  would  sing  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
little  one  the  old  cradle  song  of  the  white  and 
the  black  sheep.  Thus  passed  a  year  of  sorrow 
to  the  countess.  But  the  boy  thrived,  and  be- 
came a  beautiful,  sturdy  child. 

One  day  his  nurse  was  sitting  with  the  little  one 
in  the  castle  garden,  the  boy  was  playing  in  the 
grass  with  a  small  wooden  horse,  and  his  mother 
was  standing  on  the  balcony  and  delighting  in 
the  sight  of  him.  Suddenly  the  child  rose  and 


THE   WITCHING-STONE.  241 

stood  for  the  first  time  on  his  feet,  and  made  an 
unaided  attempt  to  step  forward.  Just  then  the 
stewardess  Ortrun  came  along,  and  the  boy  bent 
toward  her,  and  seeking  a  support,  grasped  a  fold 
of  her  dress  with  his  little  hand.  The  maid  gave 
the  child  a  push  with  her  foot,  so  that  he  fell 
on  his  back  with  a  scream,  and  went  on  her  way 
scolding. 

When  the  mother  saw  how  the  bold  woman 
maltreated  her  child,  her  heart  was  convulsed 
with  bitter  anguish;  but  she  was  silent.  She 
hastened  down  into  the  garden  to  her  son,  and 
soothed  him  with  caresses.  Then  she  sent  the 
nuVse  under  a  pretext  into  the  house,  took  the 
little  one  up,  and,  unnoticed,  left  the  garden  and 
the  castle. 

The  countess  and  child  were  not  missed  till 
just  as  darkness  was  corning  on.  The  count  was 
much  alarmed  and  sent  out  servants  with  torches 
to  look  for  them  in  every  direction.  He  himself 
mounted  a  horse  and  rode  at  random  about  the 
country.  But  master  and  servants  returned  with- 
out having  found  the  lost  ones. 

The  search  was  kept  up  for  two  or  three  days 
longer;  then  the  count  put  on  mourning,  and 
hung  a  black  flag  from  the  tower. 


242  THE   WITCHING-STONE. 

It  was  supposed  that  the  countess  and  her 
child  had  become  the  prey  of  some  wild  beast 
in  the  forest.  The  maid  Ortrun  and  her  wicked 
mother  carried  their  heads  higher  than  ever,  and 
the  old  woman  said  to  the  young  one :  "  It  is  a 
good  thing  that  she  has  gone  off  with  her  brat 
of  her  own  free  will;  otherwise  — "  But  she 
said  no  more. 

A  short  time  after  Ortrun  took  possession  of 
the  state-chamber  of  the  vanished  countess,  and 
it  was  as  good  as  decided  that  at  the  end  of  the 
year  of  mourning  the  count  would  -make  the 
stewardess  his  wife.  But  when  the  year  was 
over,  and  the  count  wished  to  be  married,  the 
priest  refused  to  unite  the  pair,  because  it  was 
not  proved  that  the  countess  was  dead.  So  the 
count  had  the  name  of  her  who  had  disappeared 
posted  up  on  the  doors  of  three  churches.  Then 
after  another  year,  if  no  news  came  about  her, 
she  might  be  considered  as  dead,  according  to 
the  laws  of  the  country,  and  the  widower  might 
take  another  wife.  The  second  year  too  was  draw- 
ing to  an  end,  and  nobody  had  heard  anything 

from  the  lost  wife. 

• 
*      * 

But  the  countess  was  not  dead,  and  her  little 


THE   WITCHING-STONE.  243 

son  too  was  still  alive.  When,  overcome  by  ex- 
cessive grief,  she  had  secretly  left  the  castle,  she 
had  wandered  off  into  the  wild  forest,  not  knowing 
where  she  was  going.  She  walked  the  whole  night 
long,  carrying  the  sleeping  child  in  her  arms.  Oc- 
casionally the  eyes  of  a  wolf  shone  out  of  the  dark- 
ness of  the  firs,  but  it  did  the  poor  mother  no  harm. 
Towards  morning,  when  the  chilly  wind  blew 
through  the  trees,  her  tender  feet,  unused  to  trav- 
elling, would  carry  her  no  farther.  She  sank  down 
on  the  wood  moss  and  wept  bitterly ;  now  for  the 
first  time  she  realized  that  she  had  doomed  herself 
and  her  child  to  destruction. 

Then  there  suddenly  stood  before  the  desperate 
mother  a  very  old  man,  whose  snow-white  beard 
from  his  face  fell  down  like  a  waterfall.  In  his 
right  hand  he  carried  a  staff ;  in  his  left  a  bundle 
of  herbs. 

The  old  man  was  a  pious  hermit,  who  had 
turned  his  back  on  the  turmoil  of  the  world  and 
dwelt  in  the  wilderness.  He  gave  mother  and 
child  some  food,  and  led  them  to  his  hermitage. 
The  countess  felt  confidence  in  the  hermit  and 
told  him  who  she  was  and  why  she  had  taken 
flight.  And  the  old  man  comforted  her  and  said, 
"  Stay  with  me,  and  share  with  me  my  poverty." 


244  THE   WITCHING-STONE. 

So  the  countess  and  her  child  remained  with  the 
hermit.  By  means  of  a  wall  of  wicker-work  he 
divided  his  hut  into  two  rooms,  and  prepared  a 
couch  of  wood  moss  and  soft  fur  for  his  guests. 
For  food  he  gave  them  goat's  milk  and  whatever 
the  woods  afforded  of  berries,  roots,  and  wild 
fruits.  The  life  in  the  green  forest  agreed  with 
the  boy;  he  grew,  and  his  limbs  became  strong 
and  supple.  The  countess'  delicate  frame,  too, 
became  stronger ;  but  her  heart  was  still  filled  with 
a  secret  grief,  for  she  could  not  forget  her  husband, 
and  thought  of  him  day  and  night.  Thus  passed 
nearly  two  years. 

*** 

One  morning  the  little  one  was  jumping  about 
in  the  forest  and  playing  with  a  hazel  switch,  when 
the  hoarse  cry  of  a  raven  fell  on  his  ear ;  and  when 
he  went  toward  the  sound,  he  saw  on  the  ground  a 
flock  of  the  black  birds,  who  were  attacking  one 
of  the  number  with  their  bills.  When  the  boy 
ran  toward  them,  the  ravens  flew  away;  but  the 
one  whom  they  had  treated  so  badly  could  not  lift 
himself  into  the  air,  but  hopped  painfully  about  on 
the  ground,  so  that  it  was  easy  for  the  child  to 
catch  the  bird.  As  he  held  his  prisoner  in  his 
hand,  he  saw  an  arrow  sticking  in  one  of  his  wings. 


THE  WITCHING-STONE.  245 

He  removed  it  and  carried  the  raven  home.  The 
hermit,  who  was  skilled  in  the  art  of  healing, 
put  a  salve  on  the  wound,  and  the  little  one  cared 
for  the  sick  bird  very  faithfully ;  and  child  and 
raven  became  great  friends. 

After  some  days  the  bird  was  well  again,  and 
when  he  felt  that  his  power  to  fly  had  been  re- 
stored, he  flapped  his  wings  with  a  croak,  flew  out 
at  the  door,  and  alighted  on  a  bough  not  far  from 
the  hut.  The  boy  did  not  wish  to  lose  the  raven, 
and  ran  after  him  to  catch  him;  but  just  as  he 
thought  he  was  going  to  seize  the  fugitive,  he 
escaped  from  him,  and  the  play  continued  till  it 
grew  dark,  and  the  raven  disappeared  in  the 
shadow  of  the  trees.  Now  the  child  wanted  to 
turn  back  home,  but  he  had  long  since  lost  the 
hermit's  hut  from  sight,  and  did  not  know  which 
way  to  turn.  And  he  sat  down  under  a  tree  and 
cried  and  called  his  mother,  and  he  was  hungry 
too. 

Suddenly  the  raven  appeared  again.  He  carried 
a  piece  of  bread  in  his  bill,  and  dropped  it  in  front 
of  the  child.  Then  the  little  one  was  half  com- 
forted, ate,  and  fell  asleep. 

The  next  morning  he  was  awakened  by  the 
croaking  of  his  companion ;  he  arose  and  followed 


246  THE   WITCHING-STONE. 

the  bird  who  flew  before  him,  for  he  hoped  he 
would  lead  him  back  to  the  hermitage.  But  the 
wise  raven  had  a  very  different  design.  After 
some  hours  of  wearisome  wandering,  the  forest 
began  to  grow  light,  and  before  the  boy  lay  a 
shining  castle,  from  the  tower  of  which  waved 
a  gay  banner.  It  was  the  castle  in  which  he  had 
been  born,  but  he  did  not  know  it. 

The  raven  had  disappeared,  but  the  tired  little 
fellow  went  up  to  the  castle  and  sat  down  under 
a  linden-tree  near  the  gateway.  The  keeper  with 
spear  and  helmet  stepped  up  to  him,  and  asked 
who  he  was,  where  he  had  come  from,  and  what 
he  wanted  ;  but  he  could  get  no  information.  The 
servants  gathered  about  the  child,  but  they  could 
learn  nothing  from  him  except  that  he  came  out 
of  the  forest,  was  hungry,  and  wished  that  he 
was  with  his  mother  again.  Then  out  of  com- 
passion they  gave  him  food  and  drink,  and 
went  about  their  work.  The  servants  had  plenty 
to  do,  for  on  the  next  day  the  count  was  to  be 
married  to  the  swarthy  Ortrun. 

The  little  one  sat  under  the  linden-tree  and 
ate  the  food  which  had  been  brought  to  him. 
Then  he  heard  the  sound  of  wings.  He  looked 
up  and  saw  the  raven  hovering  above  his  head ; 


THE   WITCHING-STONE.  247 

he  carried  something  that  glistened  in  his  bill, 
and  now  he  let  it  fall  into  his  lap.  It  was  a 
fine  gold  chain  from  which  hung  a  white,  spark- 
ling stone  shaped  like  a  bean.  The  boy  examined 
the  shining  ornament  with  curiosity,  and  finally 
hid  it  in  his  dress.  When  the  raven  saw  this  he 
croaked  with  delight,  and  flewup  to  the  pinnacle 
of  the  tower. 

*** 

In  the  women's  apartments  there  was  a  great 
commotion.  The  count's  bride  was  behaving  as 
though  she  had  lost  her  mind,  and  at  the  same 
time  old  Crescenz  was  scolding  at  the  top  of  her 
voice.  Ortrun  had  been  taking  a  bath,  and  when 
she  went  to  dress  herself  again,  the  magical  chick- 
en-stone had  disappeared. 

"  Help  me,  mother ! "  cried  Ortrun,  in  the 
greatest  distress ;  "  help  me,  so  that  at  the  last 
moment  everything  will  not  go  to  pieces." 

"  Help  me ! "  said  the  old  woman  mockingly. 
"Did  I  not  tell  you  to  guard  the  stone  as  the 
apple  of  your  eye?  I  decoyed  the  bird  to  the 
lime-pole  for  yon;  keeping  him  was  your  affair, 
you  silly,  heedless  girl !  " 

The  daughter  stamped  her  foot.  "  You  shall 
help  me!  "she  snarled.  "Make  use  of  your  arts 


248  THE   WITCHING-STONE. 

and  brew  me  a  love-potion !  What  is  the  good  of 
your  being  a  witch?" 

The  mother's  eyes  shone  green.  She  gave  a 
leap,  fastened  her  fingers  in  her  daughter's  black 
hair,  and  threw  her  on  the  floor.  "  A  witch,  am 
I,  you  wicked  vixen  ?  That  is  the  thanks  I  get 
for  giving  you  a  love-charm !  " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  for  in  the  open  doorway 
stood  the  count.  He  looked  as  pale  as  death. 

"  Woman,  what  do  you  say  about  love- 
charms?"  he  cried. 

The  women  both  trembled  like  aspen-leaves. 
The  count,  moreover,  threatened  them  with  his 
sword,  and  swore  he  would  strike  them  to  the 
ground  unless  they  confessed.  Then  they  threw 
themselves  on  the  floor  before  him,  begging  for 
mercy,  and  acknowledged  what  they  had  done. 

And  the  count  looked  with  loathing  and  horror 
at  the  woman  who  had  ensnared  him  with  magic 
art,  and  the  charming  form  of  the  wife  whom 
he  had  betrayed  arose  before  him.  He  groaned 
aloud  like  a  wounded  stag,  turned,  and  went  out. 

The  two  women  collected  together  as  many 
of  the  jewels  and  splendid  garments  as  they 
could  carry,  wrapt  themselves  in  their  cloaks, 
and  fled  from  the  castle  like  two  gray  spectres. 


THE   WITCHING-STONE,  249 

*** 

At  the  very  moment  when  the  charm  over 
the  count  was  broken,  bitter  repentance  and  a 
yearning  for  what  he  had  lost  filled  his  heart. 
In  order  to  banish  his  tormenting  thoughts,  he 
ordered  his  horse  saddled,  and  took  his  hunting- 
gear  to  hunt  in  the  forest.  As  he  rode  out  at 
the  gate,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  lost  boy  sitting 
under  the  linden-tree,  and  he  felt  a  stab  in  his 
heart,  for  he  thought  of  his  little  son  who 
would  be  about  the  same  age  as  the  strange 
child  if  the  wolves  had  not  torn  him  to  pieces. 
He  drew  up  his  horse,  and  looked  at  the  child, 
and  an  irresistible  power  compelled  him  to  jump 
from  his  saddle  and  caress  the  boy.  And  the 
boy  threw  his  arms  about  the  count's  neck  and 
besought  him  in  a  tender,  childish  voice :  — 

"  Take  me  back  to  my  mother !  " 

"Where   is  your   mother?"   asked   the  count. 

"  There ! "  said  the  boy,  pointing  with  his 
finger  toward  the  fir  forest. 

Then  the  raven  came,  and  croaking,  circled 
round  the  father  and  his  son.  And  the  boy 
cried :  — 

"There  is  the  bird  that  led  me  here;  he 
knows  the  way  to  my  mother."  And  the  raven 


250  THE   WITCHING-STONE. 

screamed  "  Krah !  "  and  flew  toward  the  forest; 
then  sat  down  and  turned  his  wise  head  towards 
those  he  had  left  behind  him. 

Then  the  count  said :  "  We  will  try  to  find 
your  mother,"  lifted  the  child  on  his  horse, 
and  rode  into  the  fir  woods.  And  the  raven 
flew  ahead  of  them. 

*** 

In  the  hermit's  hut  there  was  great  distress. 
All  one  night  and  all  one  day  Frau  Gotelind  and 
the  hermit  had  searched  in  the  forest  for  the 
lost  child,  and  at  evening  they  both  returned 
from  different  directions  without  him.  The  poor 
mother  wrung  her  hands  in  despair,  and  the  old 
hermit  tried  in  vain  to  speak  some  comforting 
words. 

Then  they  heard  the  croaking  of  a  raven  and 
the  sound  of  hoofs,  and  Frau  Gotelind  hastened 
out  of  the  hut  in  anxious  expectation.  A  stately 
knight  came  leaping  along,  holding  on  the  saddle 
in  front  of  him  the  lost  child. 

"  Mother ! "  cried  the  boy,  still  at  a  distance, 
stretching  out  his  little  arms.  Frau  Gotelind 
was  about  to  hurry  towards  him,  but  she  trem- 
bled so  that  she  was  obliged  to  hold  on  to  the 
door-post,  for  the  rider  was  well  known  to  her. 


THE   WITCHING-STONE.  251 

The  count  reined  in  his  snorting  steed,  sprang 
down,  and  set  the  child  on  the  ground.  Then 
he  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  trembling  lady, 
and  with  a  loud  cry  threw  himself  down  at  her 
feet.  She  flung  her  arms  about  her  husband's 
neck,  and  clung  to  him  laughing  and  crying. 

The  sun  had  gone  to  rest,  and  the  bright  moon 
was  wandering  through  the  fir  forest.  By  the 
hearth-fire  in  the  hermitage  sat  the  count  and 
his  wife,  as  happy  as  a  bride  and  groom  who 
have  just  been  united. 

Then  the  boy,  who  had  been  a  long  time  with 
the  raven,  came  running  to  his  mother,  and  laid 
the  little  chain,  from  which  hung  the  white  stone, 
in  her  lap. 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  ornament  ? "  asked 
the  mother. 

"  The  raven  gave  it  to  me  when  I  was  sitting 
in  front  of  the  castle,  under  the  tree." 

The  hermit  looked  at  the  stone,  took  it  in  his 
hand,  examined  it  closely,  and  said :  — 

"  It  is  the  Alectorius  stone,  of  whose  power 
old  wise  people  tell  wonderful  things.  It  grows 
in  a  cock's  crop,  and  fastens  the  man  with  magic 
power  to  the  woman  who  wears  the  jewel  con- 
cealed about  her  person.  Believe  me,  my  daughter, 
this  stone  has  been  the  cause  of  your  sorrow." 


252  THE   WITCHING-STONE. 

Then  the  count  seized  the  chain,  threw  it  on 
the  floor,  and  raised  his  foot  in  order  to  crush 
the  Alectorius  stone.  But  the  raven  was  too 
quick  for  him,  snatched  the  chain  with  his  bill, 
and  flew  out  of  the  window  with  it.  Whether  he 
carried  the  ornament  to  his  nest  to  enjoy  its 
brilliancy,  or  whether  he  tried  the  stone's  magic 
power  on  some  coy  raven  damsel,  the  one  who 
relates  this  tale  has  never  been  able  to  find  out. 


THE  CHEISTMAS  EOSE. 


QCHNEEWITCHEN,  wrapped  in  white  sheets, 
was  asleep  in  her  glassy  coffin,  and  the  cold, 
wicked  step-mother  ruled  in  the  land.  She  is 
terrible  in  her  fury,  but  when  she  has  her  good 
days,  and  lets  her  diamond  crown  shine  benig- 
nantly  in  the  sun,  then  mortals  may  venture  to 
approach  her  ice-palace  unmolested.  She  has  in- 
numerable castles,  but  the  most  beautiful  one 
stands  on  the  Hochgebirg,  and  there  she  pre- 
fers to  hold  her  court.  The  primeval  mountains 
stand  like  venerable  court-marshalls,  with  stiff 
necks  and  powdered  wigs,  around  the  throne,  on 
which  the  queen  sits,  and  the  nixies  of  the  moun- 
tain lakes,  like  trembling  waiting-maids,  hold  the 
crystal  mirror  before  their  exacting  mistress. 
She  looks  at  her  snow-white  face  and  says :  "I 
am  the  most  beautiful  in  all  the  land,"  and  not 
one  among  the  people  of  the  court  dares  to  dis- 
sent. 


254  THE    CHRISTMAS  ROSE. 

Others  think  and  speak  otherwise.  The  blue 
titmice,  and  the  golden  pheasants  who,  hungry 
and  cold,  hop  through  the  snow-covered  branches 
of  the  fir-trees,  chirping  low,  tell  about  the  king's 
son,  who  will  waken  the  sleeping  Schneewitchen 
with  a  kiss ;  the  rude  raven  croaks  disrespect- 
fully about  the  wicked  queen,  and  the  gypsy 
tribe  of  sparrows  give  vent  to  their  discontent 
in  loud  abuse.  The  little  brown  wren  who  creeps 
through  the  dry  bushes  like  a  mouse,  sings  a 
mocking  song  about  the  severe  mistress.  He 
has  made  a  discovery  in  the  forest  path.  On 
yonder  slope,  where  the  mid-day  sun  eats  up 
the  snow,  there  is  already  a  sign  of  life.  Last 
night  the  Christmas  rose  broke  through  the 
sparkling  covering,  and  with  bended  head  greets 
the  rising  sun. 

Do  you  know  the  Christmas  rose?  In  flat 
countries  it  never  grows,  but  among  the  moun- 
tains it  is  known  to  every  child.  In  some 
places  it  is  the  snow-rose,  in  others  hellebore, 
and  it  is  called  the  Christmas  rose  because  it 
blooms  about  Yule-tide.  Its  open  calyx,  which 
is  about  as  large  as  the  hundred-leafed  rose,  is 
snow-white,  sometimes  overspread  with  a  deli- 
cate red,  like  a  mountain  snow-field  at  sunset; 


THE    CHRISTMAS  ROSE.  255 

and  one  unacquainted  with  the  blossom's  native 
soil  would  take  it  for  the  child  of  some  far-off 
zone,  so  wonderfully  beautiful  it  is.  But  the 
snow-rose  has  beside  a  virtue  of  its  own,  and 
whoever  would  know  its  origin  must  pay  attention. 

In  a  fruitful  Alpine  valley,  through  which  a 
river  fed  with  the  milk  of  the  glaciers  rolled  its 
foaming  waters,  there  stood  on  a  hill  in  ancient 
times  a  castle  with  a  tower  and  encircling  walls. 
Farther  down  on  the  river  pious  monks  had 
built  a  cloister,  and  between  the  castle  and  the 
monastery  lay  a  farm.  To-day  the  castle  lies  in 
ruins,  the  monastery  still  stands,  and  the  farm  has 
grown  in  the  course  of  time  to  a  market  town. 

It  was  near  Christmas-time,  many,  many  years 
ago,  and  it  was  even  more  lonely  and  silent  in  the 
valley  than  usual,  for  all  who  could  carry  sword 
and  lance  had  gone  with  the  count,  to  whom  the 
castle  and  land  belonged,  across  the  mountains 
to  Italy. 

The  farmer  too,  as  one  of  the  count's  peo- 
ple, had  been  obliged  to  leave  his  home ;  and  al- 
though he  was  always  ready  for  battle,  yet  this 
time  his  going  away  was  very  hard,  for  he  had 
to  leave  behind  him  a  blooming  young  wife  and 
a  little  three-year-old  girl. 


256  THE    CHRISTMAS  ROSE. 

The  Christmas  festival  was  at  hand.  In  the 
hall  of  the  farmhouse  the  hearth-fire  was  crac- 
kling, and  busy  maids  in  linen  aprons  were  mix- 
ing and  kneading  the  dough  for  the  holiday 
sweetcakes.  Frau  Walpurga,  the  mistress  of 
the  household,  was  not  present.  She  was  sitting 
with  her  heart  heavy  with  anxiety  by  the  bed 
of  her  child  who  was  restlessly  tossing  about 
her  little  head  burning  with  fever.  On  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  sick-bed  stood  a  monk  with 
a  shining  bald  crown  and  gray  beard.  It  was 
Father  Celestin  from  the  monastery,  a  pious 
man,  experienced  in  the  art  of  healing.  He 
scrutinized  the  sick  child,  shook  his  head,  and 
began  to  mix  a  drink  from  the  medicines  he 
had  brought  with  him. 

Heavy  footsteps  were  heard  outside  in  the 
hall,  and  an  old  man,  wearing  a  mantle  of  coarse 
material,  entered  the  sick-room ;  in  his  left  hand 
he  held  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  in  his  right, 
a  lamb  carved  out  of  wood.  The  man  was  the 
shepherd  of  the  farm.  He  looked  darkly  at  the 
monk,  then  stepped  up  to  the  little  bed,  and 
held  the  lamb  before  the  child.  He  had  made 
two  coal-black  eyes  for  it  with  pine  soot,  and 
with  the  juice  of  berries,  a  red  mouth ;  but  the 


THE    CHRISTMAS  ROSE.  257 

child  did  not  notice  the  plaything.  The  mother 
sighed,  and  the  shepherd  left  the  room  as  qui- 
etly as  he  could.  The  monk  gave  the  healing 
drink  to  the  child,  spoke  some  words  of  com- 
fort, and  went  out.  Mother  and  child  were  alone. 

The  physician's  remedy  seemed  to  do  good  to 
the  feverish  little  girl.  She  fell  into  a  deep  sleep, 
and  slept  all  day.  But  as  the  sun  was  going  down, 
the  child  grew  restless  again ;  her  forehead  burned 
like  fire,  and  she  spoke  incoherent  words.  All 
of  a  sudden  the  little  one  lifted  herself  from  her 
pillow  and  said:  "See,  mother,  see  the  beauti- 
ful lady  and  all  the  little  children,  and  the  lady 
gives  me  roses,  white  roses  1 "  Then  she  fell 
back  again,  and  closed  her  eyes.  But  Frau  Wal- 
purga  knelt  down,  sobbing  softly.  — "  The  child 
has  seen  the  angels  of  heaven ;  she  must  die." 

The  mother  did  not  long  give  way  to  her  dis- 
tress. She  hastened  to  the  door,  and  called  the 
servants  to  send  a  messenger  for  Father  Celes- 
tin.  But  both  men-servants  and  maids  had  all 
gone  to  the  monastery  church  to  hear  the  Christ- 
mas service.  Only  one  old  lame  woman  had  been 
left  behind  to  tend  the  hearth-fire.  Frau  Wal- 
purga  commanded  her  to  put  out  the  fire,  and 
stay  by  the  child.  She  wrapped  her  cloak  about 


258  THE    CHRISTMAS  ROSE. 

her,  left  the  house,  and  went  in  all  haste  to  the 
monastery. 

The  sun  had  already  set :  only  the  mountain 
tops  still  gleamed  a  ruddy  gold ;  in  the  valley  the 
twilight  had  spread  her  gray  garment  of  mist 
over  the  snow-fields.  No  living  creature  was 
to  be  seen,  except  two  rooks  flying  towards  the 
forest,  slowly  flapping  their  wings.  In  the  far 
distance  a  light  flickered  through  the  mist;  it 
came  from  the  lighted  windows  of  the  mon- 
astery church ;  and  the  mother,  with  her  heart 
full  of  anguish,  hastened  over  the  creaking  snow 
in  the  direction  of  the  light. 

Suddenly  her  feet  stopped,  and  her  breath 
failed  her.  Out  of  the  forest  came  a  long  pro- 
cession of  misty  forms,  led  by  a  beautiful,  tall, 
serious  lady,  in  a  broad,  full  cloak,  and  behind 
her  tripped  a  crowd  of  little  children  with  pale 
faces,  clad  in  white. 

The  trembling  mother  concealed  herself  be- 
hind the  trunk  of  a  tree,  and  let  the  procession 
pass  by.  At  the  very  end  came  a  child  who 
could  hardly  follow  the  others,  for  she  was  con- 
stantly stepping  on  her  dress,  which  dragged  on 
the  ground.  Then  Frau  Walpurga  forgot  her 
distress,  and  overcame  her  dread.  She  stepped 


THE    CHRISTMAS  ROSE,  259 

toward  the  child,  and  tucked  up  her  little  frock 
so  that  she  could  keep  pace  with  the  other  chil- 
dren. 

And  the  beautiful  pale  lady  turned  her  face 
toward  the  helper,  smiled  at  her,  and  pointed 
with  her  forefinger  to  the  ground  at  her  feet. 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  monastery  bells 
trembled  through  the  air,  the  procession  disap- 
peared like  mist  scattered  by  the  wind,  and 
Frau  Walpurga  stood  in  the  twilight  alone  on 
the  snow-covered  plain. 

With  timid  steps  she  approached  the  spot  to 
which  the  woman  had  pointed,  and  her  heart 
leaped  for  joy.  Out  of  the  ice-covered  earth  was 
growing  a  bush,  bearing  green  leaves  and  white 
roses. 

"  Those  are  the  roses  my  child  saw  in  her 
dream ! "  exclaimed  Frau  Walpurga ;  then  she 
plucked  three  of  the  blossoms,  and  hurried  as 
fast  as  she  could  go  back  to  the  farmhouse. 

Besides  the  maid  she  found  the  old  shepherd 
by  the  sick-bed.  He  had  little  regard  for  the 
skill  of  the  monks,  and  therefore  he  himself  had 
made  a  drink  out  of  goat's  gall  and  juniper  ber- 
ries, and  had  given  it  to  the  little  sick  girl. 

Frau   Walpurga  stepped  up  to  the  bed,  laid 


260  THE   CHRISTMAS  ROSE. 

the  three  roses  on  the  spread,  and  watched  the 
child  with  anxious  expectation.  She  seized  the 
flowers  with  her  little,  trembling  hands,  held 
them  to  her  face,  and  sneezed  loud  and  strong. 

"God  bless  her  I"  cried  mother,  shepherd,  and 
maid.  Then  the  child  asked  for  a  drink,  turned 
her  head  on  one  side,  and  fell  asleep. 

"Now  the  fever  is  broken,"  said  the  shep- 
herd. "My  drink  and  the  sneeze  have  saved 
the  child.  But  where  did  you  get  those  roses, 
Frau?" 

Frau  Walpurga  quietly  told  the  old  man  what 
had  happened  to  her. 

"  That  was  none  other  than  Frau  Berchta 
with  the  cricket  folk,"  explained  the  shepherd. 
"She  wanders  about  every  evening  from  Christ- 
inas till  Twelfth  Night,  and  my  father  has  seen 
them  too.  Formerly  she  dwelt  up  in  the  Frauen- 
stein,  but  when  the  monks  built  their  house  of 
stone  she  departed,  and  only  shows  herself  dur- 
ing the  twelve  nights  after  Christmas,  and  blesses 
the  land.  It  was  lucky  for  you,  Frau  Walpurga, 
that  you  helped  the  cricket.  Frau  Berchta  is  a 
gentle  lady,  and  rewards  every  service  that  has 
been  rendered  her."  And  then  the  old  shep- 
herd told  what  he  knew  about  Frau  Berchta,  and 


THE   CHRISTMAS  ROSE.  261 

he  would  have  talked  on  till  the  cocks  crowed, 
if  Frau  Walpurga  had  not  brought  him  out  of 
the  sick-room  with  friendly  words. 

Once  more  she  was  sitting  alone  by  her  child's 
bed.  The  little  one  held  the  three  roses  in  her 
closed  hand,  and  she  breathed  peacefully  and 
easily.  Only  once  she  murmured  in  her  sleep, 
when  the  sound  of  the  organ  and  the  monks' 
song  of  praise,  Gloria  in  Ezcelsis,  were  heard  from 
the  monastery.  And  the  mother  knelt  down  and 
was  long  at  prayer. 

When  Father  Celestin  came  the  next  day  to 
see  the  sick  child  she  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  play- 
ing with  the  lamb  which  the  shepherd  had  carved 
for  her. 

"  Frau  Walpurga,"  said  the  delighted  physician, 
"the  fever  has  disappeared.  But  it  was  a  costly 
drink  that  I  prepared  for  the  child.  I  hope  you 
will  show  your  gratitude  to  the  monastery." 

But  Frau  Walpurga  drew  the  monk  aside  and 
told  him  confidentially  what  had  befallen  her  on 
Christmas  Eve. 

The  Father  knit  his  brow.  "  You  were  dream- 
ing," he  said,  "  or  else  the  snow  blinded  your  eyes. 
Take  good  care  that  none  of  your  idle  talk  comes 
to  the  ears  of  our  abbot;  it  might  cost  you  a  heavy 


262  THE    CHRISTMAS  ROSE. 

penance."  But  when  Frau  Walpurga  showed  him 
the  marvellous  roses,  the  like  of  which  the  botani- 
cal doctor  had  never  seen  before,  he  grew  thought- 
ful, and  he  finally  said  :  — 

"  Woman,  you  have  been  highly  favored.  You 
have  with  your  bodily  eyes  beheld  the  Queen  of 
Heaven  and  the  blessed  angels  in  her  company. 
Our  Dear  Lady  it  was  who  gave  you  the  three  roses, 
the  mother  of  our  Lord,  and  not  the  dreadful 
sorceress,  whose  name  no  Christian  may  bring  to 
his  lips.  Be  assured  of  that,  woman.  And  now 
listen  to  me  further.  The  Madonna  above  the 
side-altar  in  our  church  is  in  need  of  a  new  robe 
as  well  as  a  crown.  Show  your  gratitude  to  the 
mother  of  God,  and  provide  her  with  new  apparel. 
Will  you  promise  me  that  ?  " 

And  Frau  Walpurga,  frightened  by  the  monk's 
warning,  said,  "Yes,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish." 

Thereupon  she  had  a  side  of  bacon,  two  fat 
geese,  a  pot  of  lard,  and  a  bottle  of  red  wine  placed 
in  a  basket,  and  ordered  a  maid  to  take  it  and 
follow  after  Father  Celestin  to  the  monastery. 
And  Father  Celestin,  with  a  smirk,  blessed  mother 
and  child,  servants  and  house,  and  went  away,  fol- 
lowed by  the  panting  maid.  But  the  old  shepherd 
muttered  to  himself,  "  There  again,  one  carries 


THE   CHRISTMAS  ROSE.  263 

away  the  thanks  which  belong  to  another " ;  and 
by  "  another  "  he  meant  himself. 

Frau  Walpurga  thought  the  same,  but  she  said 
nothing.  She  gave  the  shepherd  a  handsome 
present;  and  the  Madonna  in  the  monastery 
received  a  silver  crown  and  a  new  robe,  on  which 
lace  and  spangles  were  not  used  sparingly. 

But  the  flower  which  grew  up  in  the  footprints 
of  the  heavenly  queen  —  or  was  it,  after  all,  Frau 
Berchta? — bore  seeds  and  multiplied  in  the  land, 
and  according  to  trustworthy  witnesses  has  in  later 
times  worked  many  a  miracle. 


THE   MATCH-MAKEES. 


f  MHE  sun,  after  a  short  course,  was  about  to 
go  to  rest.  It  tried  to  gild  the  spires  and 
the  snow-covered  gable  roofs,  and  as  it  was  not 
remarkably  successful  in  this  to-day,  it  sank 
hastily  behind  a  gray  cloud.  Stars  here  and 
there  peeped  out  at  their  windows,  but  the 
mist,  rolling  up  from  the  mountains,  spoiled 
their  view,  so  they  closed  their  windows  again 
and  went  to  sleep.  Besides,  their  glimmer  this 
evening  was  superfluous,  for  in  an  hour  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  lights,  kindled  by 
happy  mortals,  would  shine  through  the  De- 
cember night.  Christmas,  the  merry  time,  had 
come,  and  a  multitude  of  visible  angels,  bring- 
ing joy?  were  crowding  the  streets  and  alleys 
of  the  old  city. 

Beings  of  flesh  and  bone,  and  cheeks  rosy 
with  the  frost,  were  also  hurrying  through  the 
streets.  Most  of  them  carried  some  carefully 


THE  MATCH-MAKERS.  265 

wrapped  object,  which  later,  when  it  lay  be- 
neath the  brightly  lighted  fir-tree,  would  be 
greeted  with  a  cry  of  joy.  Everything  was  in 
haste  to-night.  No  groups  of  gossiping  servants 
hindered  the  stream  of  passers-by,  and  if  two 
people  happened  to  recognize  one  another,  they 
hurried  past  with  a  hasty  greeting.  Little  by 
little  it  became  more  quiet  on  the  street,  the 
shop  doors  were  closed,  and  the  windows  in  the 
dwelling-houses  grew  bright.  Here  and  there 
the  muffled  shouts  of  the  children  came  forth 
from  the  houses,  and  the  watchmen  with  echo- 
ing footsteps  paced  the  pavements. 

Through  the  door  of  an  old  patrician  house 
entered  a  tall  man,  wearing  a  broad-brimmed 
hat  and  a  long  cloak.  A  white  poodle  followed 
him.  Having  reached  the  second  story,  the 
man  opened  a  door,  the  plate  of  which  bore 
the  name  of  a  celebrated  artist,  and  after  a 
few  moments  he  entered  a  comfortable  room, 
illuminated  by  soft  lamp-light.  A  huge  gray 
cat  rose  from  her  cushion,  which  lay  near  the 
stove,  and  with  a  low  purr  greeted  her  mas- 
ter as  he  entered.  Then  she  showed  the  same 
politeness  to  the  poodle,  and  laid  herself  down 
again.  Poodle  and  pussy  had  known  each  other 


266  THE  MATCH-MAKERS. 

for  many  years,  and  lived  together,  not  like 
"cats  and  dogs,"  but  like  two  excellent  chums 
who  have  been  together  at  school. 

The  man  took  off  his  hat  and  cloak,  and 
went  to  the  window.  In  the  opposite  house 
flickered  the  lights  of  a  Christmas  tree,  and  the 
shadows  of  the  children  and  grown-people  stood 
out  on  the  lowered  shades.  The  man  looked  at 
the  lighted  window  for  a  long  time,  then  turned 
away,  brushed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  said 
softly  to  himself,  "I  am  alone." 

The  poodle,  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to 
contradict  this,  approached  him,  and  rubbed 
bis  cold  nose  against  his  hand;  but  his  master 
paid  no  attention  to  the  caress.  "  I  am  alone," 
he  repeated.  Then  he  sat  down  in  his  easy- 
chair,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 

No  bright  pictures  were  they  which  passed 
before  the  lonely  man's  mind :  —  a  melancholy 
childhood,  a  youth  full  of  cruel  privations,  weari- 
some struggling  and  disenchantments  of  every 
sort.  Honor  and  wealth  had  at  last  fallen  to 
his  share,  but  in  the  time  of  need  he  had 
forgotten  how  to  enjoy  himself.  Youth  was 
past ;  in  his  dark  hair  the  frost  of  early  autumn 
already  shimmered,  —  and  he  was  alone. 


THE  MATCH-MAKERS.  267 

Then,  as  he  sat  thus  brooding  over  the 
past,  he  suddenly  heard  close  to  him  the  words : 
"Old  friend,  shall  we  chat  together?  The 
master  is  asleep." 

"I  am  willing,"  came  the  answer.  "You 
begin." 

"That  is  my  poodle  and  my  cat,"  said  the 
man  to  himself,  "  and  I  am  dreaming.  To  be 
sure,  on  Christmas  eve,  animals  have  the  power 
of  speech ;  I  used  often  to  hear  that  when  I 
was  young.  If  only  I  do  not  wake  up  before 
I  learn  what  the  two  have  to  say  to  one 
another ! " 

"Friend  Pussy,"  the  poodle  began,  "do  you 
know  that  for  some  time  the  master  has  not 
quite  pleased  me?  He  has  neglected  me.  I 
will  forgive  him  for  not  having  me  sheared  in 
the  summer,  but  it  hurts  me  deeply  that  he 
almost  never  claims  my  services." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  cat,  "  he  is  no  longer  as 
he  used  to  be.  Just  think,  yesterday  he  even 
forgot  to  give  me  my  breakfast.  At  last  I 
shall  have  to  return  to  my  former  life  of 
catching  mice.  That  would  be  hard." 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear,"  said  the  poodle, 
"what  would  be  the  best  thing  for  us  and 


268  THE  MATCH-MAKERS. 

for  him  ?  If  we  had  a  woman  in  the  house 
who  would  look  after  our  rights  and  keep  things 
in  order." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  cat,  "  that  is  a  doubtful 
suggestion.  The  wife  would  probably  look  011 
the  friends  of  her  husband's  youth  with  dis- 
approval. We  have  both  seen  our  best  days. 
Suppose  the  young  woman  should  show  us  the 
door,  what  then,  brother?" 

"But  I  know  one  who  would  not  do  that," 
replied  the  poodle,  "  and  you  know  her  too." 

The  cat  pointed  with  her  fore-paw  to  a  little 
picture  on  the  wall.  It  was  a  woman's  head 
with  large,  dark,  childlike  eyes.  "  Do  you  mean 
that  one  there?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  poodle.  "  She  would  be  the 
woman  for  us.  She  is  friendly  toward  me, 
that  I  know ;  and  she  doesn't  dislike  you,  for 
I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes  how  lately,  when 
you  creep  around  her  window,  looking  for 
sparrows,  she  sets  out  a  cup  of  milk  for  you. 
And  our  master — " 

"She  likes  him  too,"  said  the  cat,  filling  out 
the  sentence.  "  That  I  know ;  for  when  she  is 
sitting  by  the  window,  sewing,  and  the  master 
passes  along  on  the  street,  she  turns  her  pretty 


THE  MATCH-MAKERS.  269 

white  neck  after  him,  and  blushes.  And  when 
people  blush  —  " 

"  I  know  what  that  means,"  interrupted  the 
poodle.  "We  are  both  agreed,  and  that  is  the 
main  point.  She  must  be  our  mistress." 

"  But  the  master?"  asked  the  cat,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  That  will  be  all  right,"  said  the  poodle, 
confidently.  "  But  hush !  He  is  moving  ;  he  is 
waking  up." 

The  sleeper  leaped  from  his  chair,  and  looked 
suspiciously  at  his  companions.  But  they  lay, 
to  all  appearance  lost  in  sweet  dreams,  curled 
up  like  snail-shells  on  their  cushions,  and 
never  stirred.  And  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  the  man  strode  up  and  down  the  room, 
like  one  who  is  striving  to  settle  some  weighty 
question. 

Let  us  leave  the  solitary  man,  with  his 
poodle  and  cat,  and  mount  the  stairs  as  far 
as  they  go,  —  and  they  reach  to  the  roof, 
under  which,  in  narrow  chambers,  poor,  worried 
people  rest  from  their  day's  labor.  In  one  of 
these  little  rooms,  —  the  cleanest  and  neatest  of 
all,  —  sat  two  women,  one  old,  the  other  young. 
Before  them  on  a  table  stood  two  smoking 


270  THE  MATCH-MAKERS. 

cups  and  a  cake  cut  in  pieces.  The  maiden 
had  a  delicate,  pale  face,  and  two  large  dark 
eyes,  which  looked  out  into  the  world  some- 
times merry  and  sometimes  sad.  The  young 
girl  was  a  seamstress ;  the  old  woman  a  laun- 
dress by  trade,  and  the  younger  one's  aunt. 
She  had  come  from  her  damp  home  in  the 
suburbs  to  receive  the  presents  which  her  niece 
intended  for  her :  two  or  three  pounds  of 
sugar  and  coffee  and  a  knitted  hood  of  soft 
gray  wool,  which  the  old  woman  stroked  from 
time  to  time  caressingly  with  her  wrinkled 
hand.  The  cake  on  the  table  grew  perceptibly 
smaller,  for  the  aunt  ate  as  though  she  had 
fasted  for  three  days ;  and  when  she  could 
take  no  more,  she,  after  some  resistance,  al- 
lowed the  seamstress  to  wrap  the  rest  in  paper 
to  take  away  with  her. 

"Child,"  said  the  old  woman,  as  she  was 
getting  ready  to  go  home,  "you  would  be  wise 
to  go  to  sleep  early  this  evening,  for  in  the 
holy  Christmas  night  all  sorts  of  strange  things 
happen,  —  and  you  are  so  entirely  alone  1  Don't 
you  feel  at  all  afraid  ?  " 

The  maiden  shook  her  head  with  a  laugh. 
"What  sort  of  strange  things,  auntie?" 


THE  MATCH-MAKERS.  271 

"  Did  you  ever  pass  by  a  church  at  twelve 
o'clock  on  Christmas  eve  ? "  asked  the  laun- 
dress. "No?  Oh,  if  I  should  tell  you!  But 
I  will  not  make  you  timid.  A  maiden  can 
learn,  too,  on  Christmas  eve,  who  will  be  her 
husband;  but  that  is  a  dangerous  story." 

The  little  one  pricked  up  her  ears.  "What 
must  one  do  to  find  out  that  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Child,"  said  the  old  woman,  warningly, 
"you  will  not  try  it?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  so  inquisitive ;  but  I  should 
like  to  know  how  one  must  go  to  work  to  find 
it  out." 

The  aunt  sat  down  again  and  began  to  dis- 
play her  wisdom.  "  If  a  maiden  sits  all  sole 
alone  in  her  room  on  Christmas  eve,  and  lays 
the  table  for  two,  her  future  husband  will  ap- 
pear to  her.  But  he  has  no  flesh  and  blood ; 
it  is  an  apparition,  and  vanishes  when  the 
cock  crows.  Therefore  the  maid  would  do  well 
to  have  a  cock  near  her  in  a  bag.  And  if 
the  uncanny  guest  should  cause  her  to  be 
afraid,  she  would  only  have  to  pinch  the  cock ; 
then  he  would  cry  out,  and  the  ghost  would 
disappear.  Many  say  it  is  the  Evil  One  who 
assumes  the  form  of  the  lover.  I  do  not  really 


272  THE  MATCH-MAKERS. 

believe  that,  but  it  is  a  dangerous  game,  at 
any  rate.  I  went  through  terrible  suffering 
when  I  tried  the  trick." 

"Really?"  asked  the  maiden,  with  curiosity. 
"Did  you  try  the  magic  yourself?  And  did 
somebody  come  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  old  woman ;  "  nobody  came, 
and  so  I  knew  that  I  should  be  an  old  maid ; 
and  that  I  really  am.  But  it  troubles  me 
sorely  to  think  I  have  told  you  all  this. 
Truly,  you  will  not  try  it?  Well  now,  my 
child,  thank  you  very  much  for  the  Christmas 
gifts,  and  hold  the  light  for  me,  for  it's  as 
dark  as  pitch  outside,  and  the  stairs  are  so 
steep." 

The  seamstress  accompanied  the  old  woman 
with  the  lamp,  and  then  went  back  to  her 
silent  room.  The  hot  drink  had  made  her 
little  face  glow,  and  as  she  busied  herself  in  a 
matronly  way,  putting  the  plates  and  dishes  in 
their  places,  she  would  have  been  a  charming 
sight  for  anybody's  eyes ;  but  there  was  no 
one  who  could  refresh  himself  with  a  look  at 
the  young  blossom. 

What  her  aunt  had  been  telling  her  went 
round  and  round  in  her  head.  At  first  she 


THE  MATCH-MAKERS.  273 

laughed  at  the  Christmas  magic,  then  she  grew 
thoughtful,  and  finally  —  it  was  surely  only  a 
harmless  joke  —  she  brought  out  a  white  cloth, 
spread  it  on  the  table,  and  laid  it  for  two. 
There,  now  he  can  come.  To  be  sure,  she 
had  no  cock,  but  she  wore  a  little  cross  around 
her  neck,  and  every  sort  of  ghost  must  vanish 
before  the  cross.  She  sat  down,  folded  her 
little  hands  in  her  lap,  and  called  up  to  mind 
the  men  whom  she  knew,  —  the  curly-haired 
shopkeeper  in  the  grocery  shop,  who  always 
weighed  out  the  sugar  and  coffee  for  her  so 
generously ;  the  sergeant,  who  occasionally  met 
her  and  greeted  her  so  respectfully;  and  the 
writer  in  the  house  opposite,  who  played  on 
his  flute  every  evening  "  If  I  were  a  bird," 
—  but  none  of  these  was  the  right  one.  At 
last  she  came  to  one  more,  but  he  was  a 
serious,  fine  gentleman,  who  could  hardly  re- 
member the  poor  seamstress  in  the  garret. 

Two  years  before,  when  her  mother  was  still 
living,  he  met  her  for  the  first  time  on  the 
stairs,  had  stopped  and  looked  at  her  with  the 
most  gentle  eyes.  On  the  following  day  he  had 
spoken  to  her,  and  asked  her  to  sit  for  him 
as  a  model  for  a  picture.  At  first  she  had 


274  THE  MATCH-MAKERS. 

objected,  for  she  had  heard  horrible  stories 
about  painters  and  models ;  but  the  gentleman 
had  spoken  so  courteously  to  her !  And  so 
she  went,  accompanied  by  her  mother,  to  his 
studio.  Afterward  she  had  seen  the  finished 
picture  too.  It  represented  an  old  man  with  a 
harp,  and  by  his  side  sat  a  young  girl,  and 
the  young  girl  was  the  little  seamstress  —  her 
very  self.  When  the  picture  had  gone  out  into 
the  world,  the  painter  had  placed  a  large  bank- 
note in  her  work-basket.  She  had  really  not 
wished  to  take  it,  but  as  her  mother  then  lay 
on  her  death-bed  she  did  not  dare  to  return 
the  gift,  and  the  money  went  just  far  enough 
to  bury  her  mother  and  to  get  a  little  cast- 
iron  cross  for  her  grave.  She  had  never 
spoken  to  the  painter  since  that  time,  but  she 
saw  the  serious  man  every  day,  and  she  had 
formed  a  friendship  with  his  two  companions, 
—  a  poodle  and  a  pussy-cat,  —  and  was  kind 
to  the  animals  whenever  she  had  an  oppor- 
tunity. 

The  lamp  blazed  up  and  started  her  out  of 
her  dreams.  She  saw  the  two  plates  before 
her,  and  she  smiled,  and  then  gave  a  sigh. 
"  You  are  a  thoroughly  silly  creature,"  she 


THE  MATCH-MAKERS.  275 

said  softly,  and  rose  to  put  away  the  dishes 
again. 

Then  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Heaven  help  us,  if  the  Christmas  magic  is 
really  no  fairy  tale  I  And  the  door  opened, 
and  the  apparition  which  appeared  in  the 
doorway  was  like  the  painter  to  a  dot.  The 
poor  little  girl  sank  trembling  into  her  chair, 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  the  ghost  in  a  deep 
voice ;  and  then  he  came  nearer,  sat  down  by 
the  seamstress,  and  took  her  hand.  Ghosts 
usually  have  ice-cold  hands,  but  the  one  which 
grasped  the  trembling  maiden's  was  full  of  warm 
life. 

And  then  the  ghost  began  to  speak.  He  spoke 
of  the  lonely,  joyless  existence  he  led,  and  then 
many  other  things  about  love  and  fidelity,  and 
the  maiden  listened  with  a  beating  heart.  If  he 
were  no  ghost  after  all  1  With  trembling  hands 
she  felt  for  the  little  cross  she  wore  in  her  waist. 
Before  the  cross  all  magic  is  destroyed.  She 
drew  it  forth  and  held  it  before  the  ghost. 

But  he  smiled,  seized  the  cross,  and  said : 
"Poor  child,  you  do  not  believe  my  words.  I 
swear  to  you  on  the  cross  which  I  hold  in  my 


276  THE  MATCH-MAKERS. 

hands  that  I  am  true  and  honest  in  my  inten- 
tions toward  you.  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

Then  the  little  one's  soul  rejoiced  like  a  lark. 
No,  it  was  no  apparition  to  vanish  into  mist 
at  the  crowing  of  a  cock ;  it  was  one  of  Adam's 
sons,  with  flesh  and  bone.  His  mouth,  which 
her  lips  sought,  was  warm,  and  his  heart  beat 
violently  against  her  breast. 

O  blessed,  merry  Christmas ! 

Then  there  was  a  scratching  at  the  door,  and 
•when  it  was  opened  the  poodle  came  in  with 
a  bound,  and  behind  him  was  seen  the  cat. 
They  came  to  bring  their  congratulations.  The 
poodle  jumped  up,  now  on  his  master  and  then 
on  the  maiden,  whining  for  joy.  The  cat  arched 
her  back,  and  purred  like  a  spinning-wheel. 
That  the  two  people  had  found  each  other  was 
the  work  of  the  wise  creatures.  They  were 
proud  of  it,  but  said  nothing  about  it,  for  true 
merit  is  rewarded  in  silence. 


A  HAPPY  MAKKIAGE. 


A  CONVENTION  of  magicians  was  to  be 
held  in  Africa,  and  guests  came  to  the  fes- 
tival from  all  quarters  of  the  globe  in  aerial  con- 
veyances. Among  others,  an  aged  fairy  had  left 
her  castle,  and  undertaken  the  journey.  Her 
dragon-coach  in  the  course  of  years  had  become 
somewhat  decayed,  and  as  it  was  coming  down  a 
steep  cloud-mountain  the  axle-tree  broke.  The 
coach  immediately  began  to  fall,  and  whirled, 
together  with  the  struggling  dragons,  down  to 
the  solid  earth.  A  fairy  can  endure  more  than 
mortals,  but  still  she  was  very  much  alarmed  at 
the  accident,  and  the  fact  that  she  landed  directly 
in  the  midst  of  a  populous  town  considerably  in- 
creased her  anxiety. 

The  city  was  none  other  than  Simpel,  and  the 
people  who  surrounded  the  shattered  coach  were 
Simpletons.  How  they  opened  their  eyes!  Em- 
perors and  kings  had  often  been  entertained 


278  A  HAPPY  MARRIAGE. 

within  their  walls,  but  a  fairy  who  journeyed 
through  the  air  with  a  team  of  dragons  they  had 
never  yet  beheld.  However,  they  conducted  them- 
selves like  brave  Christian  people.  The  coach 
they  dragged  to  the  blacksmith's  shop,  they  put 
the  dragons  in  the  stable,  and  filled  the  crib  with 
pitch  wreaths  and  brimstone  matches.  But  the 
burgomaster  invited  the  fairy  in  appropriate  lan- 
guage to  come  to  his  humble  dwelling  and  take  a 
lunch  to  recover  herself  from  the  fright  she  had 
undergone. 

The  fairy  accepted  the  gallant  man's  invita- 
tion, refreshed  herself  with  food  and  drink,  and 
later  the  burgomaster  took  her  to  see  the  sights  of 
the  city.  Then,  indeed,  she  saw  many  things  that 
she  had  to  shake  her  head  over,  and  what  she 
learned  about  the  customs  and  doings  of  the 
people  made  her  very  thoughtful.  When  she 
returned  to  her  host's  house  again,  she  took  her 
magic  book  in  her  hand,  and  soon  knew  all  that 
she  wanted  to  know.  "  The  worthy  people  must 
be  helped,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  asked  the  bur- 
gomaster to  grant  her  an  interview. 

At  first  she  praised  the  city,  and  then  began 
cautiously  to  draw  his  attention  to  the  existing 
poverty  and  crime;  and  when  the  consul,  shrug- 


A   HAPPY  MARRIAGE.  279 

ging  his  shoulders,  admitted  that  things  were 
really  not  altogether  as  they  ought  to  be,  the 
fairy  said :  "  Gracious,  burgomaster !  A  fiend 
has  established  himself  in  your  city,  and  for  hun- 
dreds of  years  has  darkened  the  minds  of  the  cit- 
izens, and  —  pardon  me  —  yours  as  well.  But  I 
know  how  to  exorcise  spirits,  and  will  free  your 
city  from  the  plague  if  you  will  accompany  me 
to  the  court-house." 

So  they  went  together  to  the  windowless  court- 
house, which  was  lighted  with  miserable  oil 
lamps.  There'  the  fairy  opened  her  book  and 
began  the  exorcism.  She  had  been  whispering 
her  magic  words  for  a  good  while,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  the  door  of  the  large  oaken  cupboard,  in 
which  the  city  seal,  the  chronicle,  and  the  most 
important  documents  were  kept,  opened  with  a 
great  creaking,  and  bluish  smoke  began  to  pour 
out  from  the  inside.  The  burgomaster  fortified 
himself  behind  a  chair,  and  awaited  the  appear- 
ance of  the  spirit  with  fear  and  trembling.  But 
the  fairy  continued  her  exorcism,  the  cloud  became 
condensed,  and  finally  the  spirit  assumed  bodily 
form.  It  did  not  excite  fear  and  dread,  but  rather 
pity,  for  it  appeared  like  a  young  woman  with  low 
brow  and  delicate  features.  And  the  maiden,  or 


280  A   HAPPY  MARRIAGE. 

whatever  it  was,  immediately  began  to  weep  and 
sob,  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  There  is  your  city  ghost,"  said  the  fairy. 
"Now  try  your  best  to  get  rid  of  her.  But  do 
the  little  creature  uo  harm.  You  must  promise 
me  that." 

The  burgomaster  had  found  his  courage  again. 
He  looked  at  the  pitiful  form,  and  then  asked  her 
sternly,  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

But  the  maid  could  give  no  answer,  for  she  was 
sobbing  so.  Then  the  fairy  bent  towards  the  bur- 
gomaster and  whispered  a  word  in  his  ear,  and 
the  honorable  gentleman  fell  back  alarmed  into  a 
chair.  "  Horrible ! "  he  groaned,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  Thus  he  sat  for  a  long  time. 

"Make  an  end  of  it,  good  burgomaster,"  said 
the  fairy  after  a  while,  "  and  send  her  away." 

"Yes,  she  must  go,"  said  the  disquieted  official. 
"She  shall  go  unharmed  from  here,  but  she  must 
swear  that  she  will  never  come  back  again." 

She  did  so.  Then  the  burgomaster  gave  the 
exile  a  pass,  and  furnished  it  with  a  seal  and  an 
illegible  signature,  and  when  the  vesper  bell 
sounded  the  evil  spirit  had  already  left  the  city 
far  behind  her. 


A   HAPPY  MARRIAGE.  281 

Sadly  went  the  banished  spirit  along  the  country 
road.  She  journeyed  all  night  long,  and  when  the 
awakening  birds  became  noisy,  and  the  mountain- 
tops  began  to  grow  rosy,  she  came  to  a  village.  She 
dimly  remembered  having  once  lived  among  the 
peasants,  and  that  she  did  not  have  a  bad  time 
then.  Therefore  she  made  up  her  mind  to  try 
her  luck  in  the  village. 

By  a  gurgling  well  stood  a  handsome  peasant 
woman  with  red  arms,  pouring  watei  into  the 
milk  that  she  was  going  to  carry  to  the  city.  The 
woman  was  Country  Simplicity.  The  pilgrim 
timidly  approached  her,  and  asked  in  a  shy  voice, 
"  Possibly  you  are  in  want  of  a  maid  ?  " 

"  A  maid  I  certainly  am  in  need  of,"  replied 
the  peasant  woman,  and  looked  the  stranger  criti- 
cally in  the  eye.  "Oho,  it's  you,  is  it?"  she  ex- 
claimed, and  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "I  know 
you ;  I  have  often  seen  you  in  the  city.  No,  my 
good  girl,  there  is  no  room  for  you  in  the  village. 
Go  on  further  !  "  And  Country  Simplicity  turned 
her  back  on  the  poor  creature,  and  went  on  with 
her  work. 

The  maid  continued  her  way.  She  went  from 
house  to  house,  but  she  was  welcome  nowhere ; 
they  turned  her  rudely  or  scornfully  from  the 


282  A   HAPPY  MARRIAGE. 

door,  and  the  dogs  barked  after  her.  The  same 
thing  happened  to  her  in  the  next  town,  and  she 
had  begun  to  look  about  for  a  corner  where  she 
could  stay  at  night,  when  she  happened  on  an  old 
gloomy  house,  whose  door  stood  carelessly  open. 
She  went  in,  and  found  in  an  arched  room  on  the 
ground  floor  an  old  woman  busily  writing  by  the 
light  of  a  lamp.  Dusty  books  and  gilded  parch- 
ments lay  about  everywhere,  and  spiders  had  spun 
their  webs  in  every  corner.  The  woman  who  was 
writing  was  Knowledge. 

"  Do  you  need  a  maid  ?  "  asked  the  outlaw  in  a 
low  voice. 

Knowledge  pushed  her  horn  spectacles  upon 
her  forehead,  and  inspected  the  stranger;  nodded 
her  gray  head  with  satisfaction,  and  said  :  "  There 
is  something  about  you  that  pleases  me.  You  can 
remain."  And  the  stranger  remained. 

It  was  not  a  difficult  position  to  be  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Knowledge,  and  the  mistress  grew  daily 
more  fond  of  the  industrious,  quiet  rnaid.  Occa- 
sionally, when  she  was  in  a  particularly  good 
humor,  she  would  read  a  passage  from  her  man- 
uscript to  the  servant,  and  ask,  "  What  do  you 
think  of  that?"  Then  the  maid  would  answer 
and  give  her  opinion  as  well  as  she  could,  and 


A  HAPPY  MARKIAGE.  283 

the  dame  would  nod  an  assent,  and  write  down 
the  maid's  words  on  the  edge  as  a  gloss.  It  was 
a  fortunate  union. 

But  one  day  a  man  came  to  the  house  who  had 
orders  from  the  king  to  write  down  the  names  of 
all  the  people  in  the  city,  —  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, —  for  the  king  wished  to  know  how  many  sub- 
jects he  had.  So  the  maid  was  brought  out  to  the 
official. 

"  Have  you  a  certificate  or  anything  in  writing 
to  show  where  you  belong?"  he  asked;  and  the 
maid  produced  her  passport  that  the  burgomaster 
of  Simpel  had  given  her.  The  man  looked  at  it 
with  astonishment,  then  handed  the  paper  to  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  and  asked  with  a  laugh, 
"  Do  you  know  whom  you  have  taken  into  your 
house  ?  " 

Knowledge  took  the  passport,  read  it,  and  let 
the  paper  fall  from  her  hands.  "  Oh  my  good- 
ness ! "  she  groaned  in  an  undertone.  Then  she 
implored  the  officer  not  to  say  anything  about  it, 
paid  the  trembling  maid  the  wages  due  her,  gave 
her  some  cast-off  garments  besides,  and  bolted  the 
door  behind  the  departing  bird  of  misfortune. 


284  A   HAPPY  MARRIAGE. 

With  hanging  head  the  poor  thing  crept  out 
of  the  city;  and  when,  after  a  hard  journey,  she 
reached  a  wood,  she  decided  to  live  in  it  and  become 
a  hermit. 

She  had  spent  several  days  in  the  wilderness, 
when  one  morning,  while  gathering  berries,  she 
came  to  a  garden  fence.  Strange  trees  and  flow- 
ers grew  in  it,  and  birds  of  shining  plumage  sang 
in  the  branches.  An  old  woman  was  taking  a 
walk  along  the  path  strewn  with  golden  sand. 
She  was  none  other  than  the  fairy  who  had 
driven  the  unfortunate  creature  into  banishment ; 
and  as  soon  as  the  maid  recognized  her  enemy, 
she  fell  on  the  ground  with  a  loud  scream. 

The  fairy  came  to  the  fainting  girl,  lifted 
her  up,  and  gave  her  some  strengthening  bal- 
sam. Then  she  led  her,  trembling,  into  her 
castle,  and  quieted  her  with  friendly  words. 
"  You  may  stay  here,"  she  said,  "  for  a  few 
days,  and  rest  yourself.  In  the  mean  time,  I 
hope  that  just  the  right  thing  will  be  found 
for  you.  I  am  to  blame  for  your  misfortune, 
and  it  is  right  that  I  should  help  you  out  of 
it." 

Hereupon  the  fairy  shut  herself  up  in  her 
study,  and  called  up  the  spirits  that  served 
her,  to  hold  counsel  with  them. 


A   HAPPY  MARKIAGE.  285 

On  the  third  day  the  fairy  sent  for  the 
little  stranger.  She  looked  very  friendly,  and 
said :  "  My  child,  I  have  something  good  in 
store  for  you.  In  a  short  time  your  sadness 
will  be  changed  to  joy."  She  rang  for  her 
waiting-maids,  and  ordered  them  to  dress  her 
charge  in  costly  garments.  The  waiting-maids 
did  their  best,  and  when,  after  an  hour,  the 
stranger  in  her  adornment  appeared  again  be- 
fore her  patron,  the  fairy  nodded  her  head  in 
approval.  "  Come,  and  follow  me !  "  she  said, 
and  conducted  the  little  one  into  the  courtyard. 
There  stood  a  dainty,  milk-white  ass,  provided 
with  wings,  and  a  woman's  saddle.  "  Mount !  " 
commanded  the  fairy,  and  helped  the  maiden 
into  the  saddle.  Then  she  whispered  something 
in  the  ass's  ear,  and  the  ass  gave  a  joyful  bray, 
lifted  his  wings,  and  rose  like  a  falcon  into  the 
air.  "  Hold  on  fast!  "  cried  the  fairy,  and  waved 
her  handkerchief.  The  winged  ass  had  soon 
mounted  so  high  with  his  burden  that  he  looked 
no  bigger  than  a  lark  above  the  cornfields. 
But  the  fairy,  smiling,  rubbed  her  hands  with 
satisfaction. 

The  magic  ass  understood  flying.  He  shot 
straight  ahead  like  a  dove  striving  to  reach  her 


286  A    HAPPY  MARRIAGE. 

own  dove-cote,  and  when  he  saw  his  goal  lying 
beneath  him,  he  sank  very  slowly  down,  that 
his  rider  might  come  gently  to  the  ground. 

The  ass  stopped  before  a  magnificent  castle ; 
the  coat  of  arms  above  the  door  showed  a 
golden  turkey  on  a  red  field.  Gaily  clad  ser- 
vants rushed  forward  to  assist  the  extraordinary 
rider  from  the  saddle.  At  the  foot  of  the 
broad  marble  steps  stood  a  dignified  man,  gor- 
geously dressed,  who  was  the  lord  of  the  castle. 

Graciously  he  took  off  his  hat  adorned  with 
ostrich  feathers  before  the  stranger,  and  led 
her  into  the  interior  of  the  palace.  Oh,  what 
magnificence ! 

When  they  reached  the  drawing-room  the 
lord  dropped  politely  on  one  knee  before  the 
lady,  and  said :  "  Be  welcome,  charming  fairy 
child !  Know  that  I  am  immortal,  and  only 
an  immortal  can  become  my  wife.  Therefore 
fate  has  led  you  to  me.  I  am  Pride."  He  rose 
and  stood  in  all  his  magnificence  before  the 
stupefied  girl.  "  And  who  art  thou,  my  adora- 
ble angel?"  asked  Pride.  "What  is  thy  name?" 

The  stranger  lifted  her  face,  and  tears  were 
shining  in  her  watery  blue  eyes.  "  Ah,"  she 
sighed,  "  I  dare  not  deceive  you.  Immortal  I 


A   HAPPY  MARRIAGE.  287 

am  indeed ;  but  if  you  should  hear  my  name 
you  would  drive  me  from  you.  I  am  —  " 

"  Why  do  you  hesitate,  heavenly  fairy? 
Speak  !  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  Stupidity,"  stammered  the  lady,  and 
held  her  hand  before  her  eyes. 

The  lord  of  the  castle  laughed  till  the  arches 
rang.  "And  do  you  think  I  believe  that?" 
he  cried.  "  Never !  But  you  shall  be  called 
\\hatever  you  please.  I  will  nevermore  let  you 
leave  my  side,  and  the  wedding  shall  be  this 
very  day.  Are  you  willing  ?  " 

Then  Stupidity  with  a  beaming  face  fell  on 
Pride's  decorated  breast,  and  whispered,  bliss- 
fully smiling,  "Yes." 

Above  them  the  ceiling  of  the  drawing-room 
opened,  and  in  a  rosy  cloud  appeared  the  good 
fairy  and  blessed  the  union  of  the  happy  pair. 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


